


Where Sleeping Wolves Lie

by Quarra, xantissa



Series: No Wolves Allowed [14]
Category: Castlevania: Lords of Shadow, Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, 悪魔城ドラキュラ | Castlevania Series
Genre: Adventure, Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Angst, Awkward introductions, Bedsharing, Biting, Blood Drinking, Blood and Injury, Blow Jobs, But it's not really a song fic, Come play, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Don’t copy to another site, Double Penetration, Dub-con body modifications, Dubious Consent, Families of Choice, Feels, Fish out of Water, Forced Orgasm, Friendship, Getting Stoned (or the magical equivalent of that), Graphic medical procedures, Hospitals, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Incest, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Marking, Multiple Orgasms, Non-specific eating disorder (Alucard doesn't like to feeeeeed), Not totally compliant with Witcher canon, Politics, Possessive Behavior, Recovery, Relationship Negotiation, Sex pollen (or the magical equivalent of it), Sloppy Seconds, Slow Burn, Smut, Some handwaving at the medical stuff, Sugar Daddy, There are songs in this fic, Torture, UST, Vampire Bites, Vampire Sex, Violence, When I say slow burn I am not fucking aorund, culture clash, genre mash up, graphic depiction of injury, hair porn, heavy h/c, non-explicit mention of past child death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2020-07-30 12:23:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 30
Words: 476,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20097181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quarra/pseuds/Quarra, https://archiveofourown.org/users/xantissa/pseuds/xantissa
Summary: Someone sent a small army to kill Geralt. What’s worse is that they very nearly succeed in their task. In a desperate move to save Geralt’s life, Alucard whisks him away to another world where Alucard has both power and connections in hopes that modern medicine can heal where the vampire’s magic cannot.While Alucard and his doctors fight for Geralt’s life, Dracula unleashes his ire upon Geralt’s world. Ciri, Eskel, and the rest of the Wolf witcher family must find a way to contain the damage and discover who’s responsible for the assassination attempt on Geralt, before Dracula burns down the world in his rage.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Notes from Quarra:  
Alright folks, we’ve already finished writing this fic, but it is 450k words long and most of that still needs to be edited and proof read. So. I _think_ I have all the tags that are really needed, but I may end up adding some as we edit. We’re going to try to aim for updates around once every two weeks, as real life permits. I’m busy as hell, but I’ll be working on it as I can, so please, be patient with me. Each chapter will be between 14k words and 24k words, 30 chapters in total, so each one will almost be like a mini fic anyways, lol.
> 
> For this fic to make sense, you should probably have read at least [No Wolves Allowed](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16743112/chapters/39277615) and [Fun is a Matter of Perspective](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18195425/chapters/43040978). The rest will help and add context, but those two are gonna be key for understanding what the hell is going on here.
> 
> Also, fair warning, we have played fast and loose with Witcher canon. It’s _mostly_ the same, but we’ve altered some stuff about Ciri’s childhood, her witcher family, and how all the witchers grew up. 
> 
> A huge thanks to [Dira Sudis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsudis/pseuds/Dira%20Sudis) for beta reading for us. Huge. HUGE. Seriously, I cannot stress it enough. And thanks to Xantissa for being patient with me while I smooth out all the kinks in the fic. I appreciate it.

The first time he felt the portal opening, Dracula didn’t make much of it. When neither Geralt nor Alucard showed up, he chalked it up to change of mind or circumstances. He remembered his own experience using the wolf portal, and how sometimes the Wolf guide could appear at the most unfortunate of places. 

After the second, he started paying closer attention to the portal room. After the third time the portal opened but nobody came through, Dracula summoned Alucard. 

The small, winged demon he sent to Castlevania City was ugly and not too smart, but it had the ability to cloud people’s perception and reliably travel in sunlight. Summoning Alucard from his chosen duties in their home world wasn't something he had done before so he hoped his son would understand the importance.

While he waited, Dracula reached out with his other senses, straining through his connection to Geralt. It was difficult to get a true sense of the situation while they were on different worlds. The best Dracula could sense was that Geralt was alive and worried. It nettled him that he couldn’t get a better idea of what was going on. If they’d been in the same realm, Dracula would have been able to tell Geralt’s physical condition and emotions, and if he focused, far more than that. But as it was, all he could sense was enough to further add to his unease. 

By the time Alucard came through his own portal, dressed in a dark business suit that was very reminiscent of what Zobek used to wear, the wolf portal had opened again and closed with no one coming through two more times. Dracula was there in the portal room waiting for him. 

“Father.” Alucard’s eyes flickered around, likely sensing Dracula’s agitation. His normally black and yellow eyes were covered by some type of colored contact, giving him a more human looking brown iris on white background. As much as Dracula didn’t care for the look---he preferred his son looking more natural---he understood why Alucard did it. After the death of Zobek and the rampant demonic infection in Castlevania City, Alucard had stepped in with a human persona to help the remaining humans rebuild. Dracula himself didn’t particularly care one way or the other, not really, but Alucard had taken up his old duties as champion of humanity. Helping to clean up the wreckage from Dracula’s destruction of Zobek, Satan, and his acolytes was part of that. 

“Alucard. Look through your bird’s eyes and find Geralt.” 

“What’s happening?” Alucard asked, just as the wolf portal whooshed open again. Dracula stared at it for long moments, waiting for Geralt to come through. But he didn’t.

“I don’t know,” Dracula said quietly. “The portal has opened and closed many times. I’m not yet sure if I should go through myself and find him.”

The situation in Geralt’s world was an interesting one, energetically speaking. There was darkness in that world, and a great deal of it, but the Powers of Light and the Ancient Gods still roamed freely. The course of their world’s fate wasn’t one he’d intended to interfere with. Every time he used his powers in that realm, it sent ripples through the world. Small visits and minor uses of power had almost no effect, but the more power he used there, the more it would shift the balance of energies. Where that chain of events would lead, he wasn’t eager to discover.

In his own homeworld, Dracula had killed the god Pan and then his brother Agreus, forever changing the natural balance of the world. Pan’s death had driven the previously neutral Agreus mad and made him nothing but a vengeful spirit. It wasn’t something Dracula was eager to repeat. There was a reason, a purpose to the Old Gods, and disregarding them wasn't something he was willing to do again.

So Dracula tempered his growing worry with caution, and hoped that Alucard would be able to shed light on Geralt’s situation. 

Without another word, Alucard closed his eyes and settled into his stance, showing the relaxed focus of a spellcaster at work. A chill swept through the room as his power manifested, and the scent of frost and fur teased at Dracula’s nose. 

Alucard’s brow furrowed, a wrinkle deeping on his forehead. The relaxed focus bled into something darker and strained. Dracula could feel Alucard pour more power into the spell, could see the tension ratchet up in his body. Then Alucard’s eyes flashed open suddenly and the sense of his power dissipating abruptly.

“I can’t track him,” Alucard said tightly. “Something, somebody is blocking him from my sight.”

An instinctive bout of smoldering anger built inside of Dracula. How _dare_ someone else meddle with what was his. Close on the heels of that anger was worry. There were already what, five? Maybe six portals that opened without Geralt coming through. 

The wolf portal opened again. It was happening more frequently now, and Dracula suspected further meddling. If there was a spellcaster powerful enough to block Alucard’s sight, then they might be affecting the portals as well. With one hand outreached, Dracula fed power into the portal, strengthening it, making it a stable, clear passage between realms. 

The wolf portal was for mortals; it was easier on their constitution, and the Wolf that led them through was as much a protector as it was a guide. The darkness was a hungry beast, and like any predator it became all the more ferocious when sensing blood or vulnerability of any kind. The Wolf was the sentient spirit that protected the travellers from the corruptive and dangerous power that filled the void between worlds. Dracula ached to just rip a hole between their dimensions, to go wherever the latest portal came from and drag Geralt back here where it was safe. The knowledge that he couldn’t stung. If Geralt was wounded or seriously hurt in any way such a trip could kill him. It was better to let the Wolf lead him through. It required waiting, though, and Dracula was so very much not one to wait.

Finally, Dracula could sense the Wolf coming through the portal. Slowly, and with a mortal in tow. The wait was agony, and both Dracula and Alucard stood like stone statues. 

A single hand reached through and into the portal room, gloved and bloody, leaving a wet smear on the stone floor. In an instant Dracula was there. He held on and pulled Geralt through. As soon as his body was completely in the room, the portal collapsed. 

Geralt lay gasping on the floor. His breath was a painful, gurgling wheeze and his brilliant yellow cats-eyes flickered around the room, unfocused and too wide.

There was so much blood. It was everywhere. How could a mortal even hold this much blood? Dracula ran careful hands down Geralt’s body, seeing, feeling, more wounds than any human should have been able to withstand. Arrows stuck out of him in several places. Some had been broken off and completely healed around, others were still unbroken and fresh. All of them stank of poison. Bruises and cuts lined Geralt’s arms and legs; his thick leather and chain armor did its job, keeping most of the wounds away from his heart, but even that protection was limited. 

His hair was messy, full of leaves and mud. Bits of twigs that had scraped skin were still stuck under the scrapes. On the left side of his face Dracula could see gravel biting deep into the scraped raw skin. One of his eyes was nearly swollen shut, and there was a series of cuts running from his temple to his eyebrow. The wound smelled bad, unclean, possibly infected already. Everything he could see was at different stages of healing, obviously received across a long stretch of time.

He carried no gear aside from his swords, and several of his extra belts had been wrapped around limbs as makeshift tourniquets.

“Dracula.” Geralt’s voice was a pained whisper, and he reached up with one shaking hand.

Dracula leaned into it, heedless of the blood and dirt; all that mattered was Geralt’s hand on his face. He wanted to pull Geralt into his arms, but the wounds were too great. He couldn’t bear to do more damage to his lover. He wanted to breath power into Geralt’s body, but it was too much, too harsh. The strain of it would kill him as surely as the arrows would. Helplessness and anger boiled up inside of Dracula and threatened to choke him.

A great, widening horror and pain filled him up as he knelt there, unable to do anything useful. Not even with all the power he possessed. 

“What happened?” Dracula held Geralt’s hand to his cheek, feeling the strength go out of it. “Who did this?”

Geralt blinked and tried to focus on Dracula’s face. His breath came out labored and harsh, and fresh blood trickled down from his nose and lips. 

“Not the...” Geralt coughed and blood black as tar escaped his lips. “Not the townsfolk. Leave them. Only---” He coughed again, this time it was a full body shudder, and Dracula could feel his heart labor to keep up. Alucard pressed down on two different wounds, trying to stop the bleeding. But there were too many.

Fire burned inside of Dracula as his pain mounted. His eyes stung and he could feel the castle around them groan under the maelstrom that was being birthed within him. 

“Keep your rage to those who deserve it,” Geralt choked out. He begged with his eyes, and his fingers spasmed against Dracula’s cheek. “Please.”

His other gloved, bloodied hand rested on top of Alucard’s rapidly staining ones. It twitched and Dracula realized Geralt was trying and failing to squeeze Alucard’s hand.

“Wa...ned to...see you,” another spasm that sent dark blood spilling down Geralt’s chin and neck. “B’fore…”

“No,” Dracula said quietly. Geralt could not be dying. This could not happen to him again. Not again. 

“S’rry. Tr’d to...c’me home…” Geralt’s eyes fluttered closed. 

“If you think,” Alucard said, his voice wretched, “that I will let you go so easily.” Alucard was all but glowing with power and the floor around him frosted over as an enormous seal bloomed around him and Geralt. Dracula felt the power raise up as a stylized clock pattern formed up above Geralt. The two clock hands started to move slowly backwards just above his chest. Dracula moved back, leaving the sphere of the spell and watched. His heart pounded like mad as everything came to a stop. The blood drops travelling down Geralt’s pale skin slowed and then froze. Dracula couldn’t see him moving, breathing, or even really showing any signs of life.

“What are you doing?”

“Our power would kill him, but the doctors in Castlevania City can save him if I can get him there in time.” Alucard lifted Geralt’s body, sitting him up and then reaching under him. “This spell is designed to turn time back and forward on inanimate objects.” There was sweat starting to bead up on Alucard’s forehead and a tightness to his voice that Dracula wasn’t used to. “I can’t turn back time on living beings, but my spell is fighting against the natural order of things and in result is slowing the time he is experiencing.”

Dracula made to help but Alucard warned him away with an abrupt gesture.

“No,” he said sharply. “You are too powerful, you might break the spell. Don’t touch either of us.”

Helplessness and rage churned inside of him, and Dracula took a step back. For a moment all the darkness and hate within him paused in face of the love he felt for Alucard. His brave, kind, powerful son. Alucard was fighting death once more, and Dracula practically swelled with pride and respect. It trembled on the edge of his anger, and Dracula felt so full of his emotions that he nearly burst with it. He could feel it leaking off of him, his will made manifest as powerful tendrils of shadow wafted off of him like flames. “Save him. Do whatever you can.”

“Taking over Zobek and Bioquimek’s fortunes has to be good for something at least,” Alucard said fiercely, standing with Geralt cradled in his arms. His charcoal grey suit was already filthy with the dirt and blood that soaked Geralt’s wrecked body.

The portal to Castlevania City opened abruptly, its energy so powerful that Dracula could feel the sting of it from where he stood. The Wolf was there too, standing in the middle of the passageway, surrounded by blue light and looking up at Geralt’s unmoving form in Alucard’s arms with its ears folded back in distress.

_Making friends wherever he goes_, Dracula thought distantly, his rational mind quickly getting lost to mindless, burning rage. Even the Wolf guide was worried. 

It hurt to watch Alucard disappear into the portal, taking Geralt with him. The castle was quiet and still around him after they left, echoing with emptiness. Only his rage remained, seething and boiling just under the skin. Even the stone floor in front of him was empty; the castle had swallowed up every drop of Geralt’s blood. Like he had never been.

Then the stones themselves seemed to shiver uneasily, and Dracula could feel a storm brewing in Geralt’s garden. A heavy, drenching rain that would flood and cripple if left unchecked. The skies above the castle howled with a frozen wind that screamed in from the mountains, and the molten rivers under the foundations swelled. 

This place was of his own creation, though much of it wasn’t a conscious choice. It formed from his energy and blood, his power and emotion. It was his servant and an extension of himself at the same time. It felt his pain. 

But there were others who should feel his pain more. 

Dracula turned to look at the space that held the portal Geralt had come through. It was child’s play to reconstruct that passage, build it back up, viciously ripping open the way between worlds. He didn’t care for comfort or for protection. The darkness between the worlds would not dare touch him, and if he brought some of it with himself to Geralt’s world? Well, it wasn’t anything those on the other side didn’t already deserve.

Whoever was responsible for this would pay so very dearly. That, at least, was something Dracula could do. He couldn’t heal his beloved. Couldn’t stop time as Alucard had. Couldn’t even touch them and hold them as they left. He was too dark, too powerfully corrupt. So he set his mind to what he could do.

The ones responsible for this couldn’t have done so casually. This was no accidental attack. Geralt was too strong, too resilient for just a chance encounter to kill him. His wounds were too many, and so obviously spread out over a length of time. Poisoned arrows. A mage blocking Alucard’s tracking spells and bringing down the portals. Whoever had come at Geralt with murder in their hearts had done so with a plan. Had systematically attempted to hunt him down and kill him. 

It took just a step. One step to take him from his castle to a forest thick with scent of night and Geralt’s blood, and the baying of hounds loud in the air.

Dogs. They dared try to hunt Geralt down with _dogs_. As if his lover was nothing more than an animal. Prey.

The night was Dracula’s ally, and every shadow his friend. He stretched out his power, feeling the trees around him, their roots burrowing deep into the cold, wet ground, and every little creature under their winter bare branches. A frigid wind swept through the darkness, the physical side effect of his attentions. 

There was a small army in these woods. He could feel them crawling through it, could smell their hate and blood. Could taste the paltry power of a little mage on the air. They’d spread out, but were rapidly closing in on the area. The pathetic excuse for a caster that they had must have sensed the Wolf portal that took Geralt away from this place, and no doubt sensed the rip in realities as Dracula came through himself. 

A vicious, unholy grin stretched across Dracula’s face, and he waited. Power welled up within him, and it actually became difficult to keep his physical form. He wanted to rage, to become fire incarnate. But first he wanted them in front of him, so sure of their victory that they would walk themselves to their own deaths. 

The dogs found him first. They perished in an instant, burned to nothingness in a wave of fire so fast and hot that they didn’t even have time to yelp. The chaos power ate them down to the last remnant of bone.

Next were the foot soldiers, and behind them were men on horses. They stood with torches and crossbows, swords and shields, milling uselessly just out of what they probably thought was attacking distance. Obviously they were alarmed and confused. Dark power all but poured off of Dracula, and even those who weren’t attuned to the energies of the world would sense it. His eyes must have been glowing in the dark. 

Dracula’s smile twisted into something hungrier, a vicious baring of teeth. He waited just another moment for them to gather closer.

“Witcher! Come out, foul demonspawn and face your holy judgement!”

And there was the priest. Or mage. Whatever. They would all die the same.

With the claws on his right hand, he pierced his own palm, letting the blood drip down. It was no effort at all to let that blood coil out, to fill it with his will and turn it into a burning, bright red essence of his rage. His blood whip. Favored of all his weapons, and the most natural one in his hand.

The first lash sent a dozen men flying into the air, and the second cut them in half. The third dug a knee deep furrow into the earth quarter of a mile long. Screams filled the air and the earth burned under his fury. 

This night would not have a dawn, only darkness for any soul present here. They chose their path when they decided to hunt down Geralt.

Dracula would be their just reward.

\--

“Is there anything I could bring you?” Alucard’s aide asked from the entrance to the viewing mezzanine, his voice a little higher than normal. 

John was a good aide. He had been incredibly efficient and practical in the face of the destruction his city had gone through, but Alucard calling him in to organise a trauma unit for one patient within the time it took Alucard to get a helicopter from Bioquimek’s helipad to Castlevania General Hospital was a little beyond his ability to swallow. 

“Change of clothes,” Alucard said absently, eyes fixed on the surgery taking place just below where he was sitting. His clothes were soaked with Geralt’s blood. The suit and coat were stiff with it, filling the room with the scent of Geralt’s pain and life slipping away. 

Somewhere along the line, his hair had come out of the tight braid he usually sported here. The severe hairstyle served a duel purpose; it made him look more intimidating and it could be easily styled to hide the pointed tips of his ears. Now it was a wild mess. His hands were also dirty; dried blood flaked off of his skin and stuck under his nails. There just wasn’t any time to wash them. Not during the frantic organization of transport and through all the effort it took to get people to do what he wanted without asking too many questions. Even now, Alucard’s attention was on his spell and Geralt’s tenuous hold on life.

“Yes, Mr. Belmont,” John answered before withdrawing from the room. Alucard knew he would be back soon enough with clothes and other necessities in hand.

John was a big help, fielding calls and people while Alucard concentrated on keeping Geralt alive those few minutes more, keeping the spell steady and true no matter what was happening.

It was still in effect. He couldn’t stop Geralt’s time but he still slowed it significantly. Both to make sure Geralt didn't bleed out on the table and to make sure he didn't start healing right around the Doctor’s fingers. 

Despite the many protests, Alucard had managed to get everything from sound to images from cameras in the surgery room to be routed to his station. He could see what they were doing through the window, as well as watch close ups of the procedures on the multiple laptops set up on hastily brought in tables around him. He could see every arrowhead the doctors cut out from Geralt, every splinter of wood, every artery and muscle they had to sew back. 

There was so much damage they actually had to bring in three surgeons. Each one was working on a different area. They had already finished most of Geralt’s limbs, cutting out infected flesh and stitching his lover up like a Frankenstein’s monster. Two of the surgeons were working on Geralt’s insides.

They had to cut him open almost from neck to hip. Alucard watched them spread Geralt’s ribs and dig in deep, to his heart, his lungs. One worked on the picking out splinters and shafts of the arrows that had worked their way into the ribs while the other one removed Geralt’s intestines and washed them off in a basin beside the gurney, stitching up tears as he went. 

There was so much that had to be done, so much damage that even a witcher would not survive without help. Not only the still bleeding wounds, but the things his body already healed around. Little bits of debris that were poisoning his blood along with the toxins the lab was already working on identifying from the removed arrows. Added on to that was the toxicity of his potions and the effects they had on him. Potions may have saved him in the heat of the battle, but they were making Geralt all the harder to treat.

A gentle knock at the door made Alucard’s ears perk up. He didn’t bother turning his attention away from the doctor’s work. “Come.”

Footsteps behind him, and then the hospital director was standing next to him. Alucard had known that he’d get the attention of the director; he’d pulled too many strings to make this happen for it to go unnoticed. Not that he cared. Geralt was more important than any inconvenience to his human persona here. 

“Mr. Belmont. I’m so sorry to hear that you’re, er, in such a terrible situation.” 

It took Alucard a moment to remember the man’s name; so much of his attention was kept on the spellwork keeping Geralt suspended in time, not to mention how he watched every little cut the surgeons made. He spared a second to be grateful that he’d left his contacts in. His eyes must surely be glowing from the power he was using to control the spell. Some of that would no doubt shine through the colored lens of the contacts, but not enough to be terribly noticeable.

“Dr. Bryce,” Alucard said eventually. “I appreciate how quickly you and your staff were able to respond.”

An extremely slow paced beep filled the quiet room, a soft marker of Geralt’s heartbeat. Alucard stood as still as the floor under him, listening to it. Each of his breaths was timed to that infrequent sound.

“I have to admit your request was highly unorthodox.” He shifted, his boots scuffing the tile. “We have no medical history on the patient, he doesn’t seem to figure in any of our databases. He seems to be a universal recipient, no antigens in his system to reject whatever blood we are giving him, but our lab is having problems determining his actual blood type.”

It would probably be useless for Alucard to admit that Geralt’s blood type wasn’t one they would recognize. After all the mutations and enhancements, much of his biology would only have a passing resemblance to that of a regular human’s. Since there was no actual question in the director’s statement, only an implied one, Alucard stayed silent. 

There was some additional awkward shifting next to him. Alucard ignored it. 

“Any information that you can give us about the patient would be appreciated,” Dr. Bryce finally said. 

That was a tricky matter. Knowing about Geralt’s enhancements wouldn’t actually help the doctors much. How would he even explain them without causing more problems? Alucard tapped one finger on his arm, a small sign of his frustrations made manifest. He didn’t want to tell these humans anything about his lover. All they would do is ask more needless questions. 

Several more slow beeps passed. Several agonizingly slow breaths. 

Dr. Bryce sighed very, very quietly. 

“With all due respect, Mr. Belmont, we need---”

“Think very, very carefully on what you will say next.” Alucard’s voice dropped low and sharpened. He had to take a moment, to draw back his anger and his upset. It would serve no one in this situation. Cold stillness filled him up once more, and he reminded himself that he was a protector for humankind. He offered rewards, not threats. “Think about what you want. Ask your surgeons and nurses in that room what they want. Because if he survives this, I will get it for you, and them.”

It took a few moments for that last statement to sink in.

“Mr. Belmont. As generous and appreciated as your offer is, our doctors are working blind here. Help us get him the care he deserves.”

_The care he deserves._

Alucard thought briefly of the ones who did this to him, and held back a snarl. Something of his anger must have leaked out, because Dr. Bryce shifted back the tiniest bit.

“There is nothing I can tell you that would change how you are treating him,” Alucard said, sighing a little. “You are all doing well. As well as I could hope for.”

“...Thank you.” There was a bit more shuffling in place from Dr. Bryce. Then he took a deep breath. “What can you tell me about his family? Any preexisting conditions with his parents?”

Silence. 

After a minute, Dr. Bryce tried again. “Can you tell me anything about any past trauma? The x-rays have shown an alarming number of healed breaks.” Paper shifted around. “Every major bone in his body has been broken more than once and healed at some point in time in his past. Along with all the, uh, arrowheads and associated current debris, the doctors have picked out several smaller embedded shrapnel. Likely from previous…incidents. We’ve found what appears to be splinters of metal, wood, bone, and, uh, claws.”

Damn Geralt and his inability to ask for help. He’d gotten better about it in the past few months, ever since the echinops incident. But there were still times where Alucard wondered if Geralt even knew how to let others take care of him. 

Dr. Bryce seemed to be waiting on an answer, so Alucard said, “I am grateful to your team for discovering and removing these inclusions.”

It was almost time for Alucard to let up the spell a tiny bit. He’d been doing that periodically, just enough for Geralt’s native healing to kick in and help ease the surgeon’s way. Keep him from dying on the table from all the cutting they were doing. It couldn’t last for long, though. Geralt was too resistant to foreign toxins. The moment the spell eased up, his body would begin to fight off the sedation. They’d already been through this three times, and it caused the doctors no end of panic. 

Alucard wasn’t fond of the process either. Not even a little. But it was necessary. 

Slowly, he flexed the power of the spell, letting time reassert itself on Geralt’s body, little by little. The ponderous beat of the heart monitor sped up, and Geralt twitched on the table. 

The voices of the medical team in the theater below them took on a more frantic note.

“He waking up again.”

“Jesus, how is this guy doing that.”

“Get the crash cart ready.”

“Up that sedation.”

“I already did. Anymore might kill him.”

“He’s gonna try to crawl off the damn table again!”

“Then up the paralytic.”

“He’s burning through it just as fast as he is the sedative.”

“Hold him!”

The flurry of activity continued on for the long, agonizing minutes that followed. Alucard’s supernaturally keen eyesight made it easy to pick up the minute changes in Geralt’s wounds as his body began to heal. Blood flowed, augmenting the additional fluid being pumped into him, and many of the smaller incisions sealed themselves immediately. The larger ones began to knit, too, but slowly. Given how splayed apart his muscles were and how weak in general he must have been, Geralt could only continue to twitch feebly. His throat worked around the respirator tube and his eyes fluttered. 

Just as he was really opening his eyes was the point where Alucard’s nerve failed. It was possible that Geralt might benefit from another minute or two of his body healing, but the price in pain was too high. A weak, agonized groan vibrated around the intubation tube. It was too much. Alucard couldn’t bear it.

Another flex of power set the spell back into place, slowing the passage of time for Geralt’s body, keeping him still and unfeeling. The low beep of his heart monitor slowed back down to its glacial pulse, and the staff in the theater calmed a bit. 

It took Alucard another minute after that to remember to blink. 

“He is resistant to both painkillers and sedatives,” Alucard said, his tone as dry as a desert. 

“So I see.” Dr. Bryce was clearly struggling to stay polite. Alucard couldn’t care less. All that mattered was that his staff did their jobs and kept Geralt alive.

“I’ll need to be there when he’s done with surgery.”

“Given the extent of his injuries, his doctors will likely want to keep him isolated for a while post-surgery. The sheer potential for germ contamination---”

“You do not understand.” Alucard fought to keep his voice even. To keep the bitter anger, frustration, and all encompassing, terrible worry locked away inside where it belonged. “As soon as your surgery is done, he will wake up. I must be there to keep him calm.”

“Mr. Belmont…”

“This is non-optional. There is no force in the city that can keep me out of that room. Nor should you interfere. To do so would only cause more difficulties for everyone involved.”

The silence that followed Alucard’s demand was telling. Clearly, Dr. Bryce was doing a quick mental calculation, weighing the odds that Geralt would die anyways against the potential risks of an additional untrained person in the room.

Little did he know that Geralt would be unable to catch sickness from him, not to mention that the only thing keeping Geralt unconscious was Alucard’s spell. The strain of keeping that magic going was enough that Alucard could feel it trembling in his bones. He’d never held a time spell for so long.

It didn’t matter. He would not fail here. 

There was another deep, frustrated sigh from Dr. Bryce. Alucard sympathized. 

“Alright, Mr. Belmont. We’ll set up some scrubs for you. You’ll need to clean up first.”

As if Alucard wasn’t aware that he was coated in blood. As if it wasn’t grating against every single nerve. The scent, the feel of it on his skin. Soaking in, tasting of poison and pain. But not fear. There wasn’t a speck of fear in the smell of Geralt’s lifeblood. 

Alucard reminded himself to breathe. At least one breath per beat of Geralt’s heart. 

“...Mr. Belmont.” Now Dr. Bryce sounded even more hesitant, if that was possible. “Your family has, ah, a reputation. I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors…” When Alucard did nothing but continue to watch the surgery below, Dr. Bryce audibly swallowed. “In light of last year’s infection and your...somewhat sudden return to the area and philanthropy in rebuilding the city, there are questions about whether or not you’re following the, ah, family business?” 

Alucard blinked. 

Was this man really asking him if he was a vampire hunter? Now? Of all times? 

The details of what all the Belmont family had been involved in over the centuries were not well known, not by any stretch of the imagination. But the Belmont line had always been cast as protectors of humanity, hunters of all things evil, and knights in the fight against Dracula. Since becoming a public persona, many people had tried to pry the same answer from Alucard, but few had tried quite so bluntly. And at such a tasteless time.

“I mean,” Dr. Bryce continued gamely on, “given the nature of your, ah, companion’s injuries and unusual physiology, it does invite certain questions.”

Now Alucard turned to look at Bryce for the first time. The older man had short, grey hair to go with his dark skin, and while his suit was in good taste and quality, it wasn’t as fine or elaborate as Alucard’s own. He looked tired. Deep rings lay under each eye and his eyes held just a hint of redness. 

The moment Alucard met the man’s gaze, his face turned a touch ashen, and Alucard could hear his heart speed up. 

“Is that so,” Alucard said. The words were barely a whisper in the room, just a touch louder than the steady, slow beep of the monitor. It was a struggle to keep his power from crackling around him. If anything, the look that Alucard leveled on Bryce made the man turn even more grey in the face and he swallowed again hard. 

“Dr. Bryce,” Alucard continued on, “I value my privacy greatly, and I would be most distraught to discover anything about this incident becoming public knowledge.”

“No, no no! Of course not! Patient confidentiality is of critical importance here at Castlevania General---” 

As he babbled his assurances, Alucard turned back to watch Geralt. Even missing those precious few seconds rankled him, and he drummed his fingers against his bicep in annoyance. 

There was another gentle knock at the door. 

“Mr. Belmont?” John’s familiar voice floated in from behind the door.

“Come in, John,” Alucard called out to him. The soft crinkle of plastic and cheap paper accompanied John’s familiar footsteps, as well as the scent of some kind of food and drink.

Alucard needed to change. Had to get out of these foul clothes and scrub the blood off of himself. Wash away the awful scent of it from his skin. But the idea of tearing himself away from Geralt’s side was anathema to him. 

“I’ve got you a change of clothes here, sir. I also got you something to eat. If you want. I know it’s been a few hours already. Here’s some hot tea, too. Something light and floral. Warm your hands at least.”

John always remembered that Alucard liked something warm to hold on to, but didn’t care for the bitter scent of coffee. It was that level of attention to detail that had served him well as Alucard’s aide. 

“Thank you, John,” Alucard said, more from habit than anything else. “Find me a basin of water and a washcloth. I’ll change in here. Dr. Bryce, if there’s nothing else?”

There was a long pause, and Alucard could tell that John and Bryce were exchanging a _look_. Alucard ignored it. They could exchange whatever loaded glances they wanted to, as long as they got their jobs done. 

“No, of course,” Dr. Bryce said with a sigh. “The latest update looks like surgery will only take a few more hours. Your, uh, the patient is extremely resilient, and we’re all glad for it. Even with the unusual complications, the doctors are making far better time than we had any hope to expect.”

It suddenly occurred to Alucard that he’d never even told them Geralt’s name.

“Geralt,” he said suddenly. As much as he was loath to share information, he couldn’t stand the idea of his lover laying there nameless under those knives, benevolent though they were. “His name is Geralt.”

“...Geralt. Geralt, no last name?” Dr. Bryce sounded hopeful for a moment, but Alucard wasn’t in a sharing mood. Silence stretched for a few more seconds, and then Dr. Bryce sighed again. “Right. Thank you, I’ll let the doctors and nurses know.”

Alucard didn’t bother to answer, all of his focus was drawn back to Geralt’s slowly beating heart and the spell that held him so still. 

\--

John Smith sort of loved his job. 

It was hard, sure. Belmont was an insanely busy man. He could be demanding at times, too, as well as bizarrely eccentric. The hours were long and the pressure was high. 

But through all of it, Belmont was an unfailingly polite and quietly kind man. John saw it over and over, every time he spent time with his boss. When John’s duties had become too demanding, Belmont had given him leave to hire a team of assistants to help him. When his hours got too long, Belmont made sure that he was eating regularly and had access to a bed to sleep in. His overtime bonuses were nothing to sneeze at either. 

Beyond their personal interactions, John saw just how much Belmont cared about the city and the people in it. Not only had he poured millions upon millions of dollars of his own fortune into the rebuilding of Castlevania City, Belmont had taken it upon himself to make sure that emergency systems were organized and funded. He had new staff hired and brought into the city, both for hospitals and security forces. He had paid for food and clean water to be distributed until the state of emergency following the infection breakout had passed, and still kept up several soup kitchens even now that the city was well on its way to recovery. 

John really considered himself lucky to have his job, and to work for someone who was making a difference for so many people. 

But today was the first time that John had ever seen Belmont so stressed. Hell, today was the first day that John had ever seen Belmont _dirty_. Throughout the last year of citywide emergencies and clean ups, the refugee crises and corporate backstabbing, every single hair on Belmont’s head had been in perfect order. His suits were always pristine, and his nails perfectly manicured. 

But there they were, hours into this whole hospital debacle and Belmont was still was covered in the strange man’s blood. For the first time in John’s memory, Belmont had been snappish. Rude, even. Considering there was a man bleeding out in his arms, John figured it could be forgiven. 

It still worried him. 

More than that, it was a touch frightening, too. John was always aware of just how wealthy and powerful Belmont was. It was apparent in everything he did, from how he shopped, how he spoke, and how he expected things to change to suit his own needs. It all screamed, _here was a man of power_. 

To see that sort of power and influence used so quickly and ruthlessly was a bit astonishing, even as John was the instigator for some of those strings being pulled. Get a private operating theater with a viewing room ready in fifteen minutes? Sure, but, whew, the things John had had to promise to get it done. If it weren’t for the fact that Belmont was practically a board member on the hospital based on how much he donated, it wouldn’t have been possible. 

It wasn’t just that, though. It was the way Belmont stood. The way his voice cut through every other sound in the room. There was this presence around him that sent a shiver up John’s back. 

And his eyes…

Belmont’s eyes were normally a warm brown, but tonight they looked almost gold. John would never in a million years admit it to anyone, but he would have been willing to swear that if put in a dark room, Belmont’s eyes would be glowing. It was kind of freaking him out, to be honest.

But John worked to keep in mind what a good person Belmont was, and that these were clearly extenuating circumstances. 

When he headed out of the observation room to rustle up a wash basin and a cloth, the hospital director was outside waiting for him. 

“Mr. Smith, could I have a word?”

Part of John’s job was to deal with stuff like this, and after what little he’d just overheard, it seemed like there would be a lot to manage. 

“How can I help you, Dr. Bryce?” John asked with as pleasant a smile as he could muster. 

It had been a damn long day already, and it was rapidly turning into a long night. John was tired. He longed for a cup of coffee, but Belmont had a nose like a hunting hound. Not that Belmont would ever tell him not to drink it, but John could see the offended twitch of his nose every time John had a particularly strong cup. On days where he was personally assisting his boss, John kept himself to sweet caffeinated drinks like Coke or strong tea. 

“Is there any way you could talk some sense into your boss?” 

That wasn’t an unusual request, either. John had discovered that Belmont had a knack for flabbergasting people. 

“I’m afraid that’s not really in my job description,” John replied with a rueful smile. 

From the pained groan that Bryce gave him, this wasn’t really an unexpected response. Then his gaze turned speculative. “...Do you know anything else about the guy we’re working on in there?” 

“Even if I did, which I don’t, it’s not my place to say.” John gave him a look. 

He completely understood how frustrated the man was. Belmont could be implacable with his wants, organizing things _just so_, and sometimes in a manner that was completely baffling to everyone else involved. 

“I know, I know. I just.” Bryce closed his eyes and took a breath. “It’ll be worth it. Belmont has more money than god, and he’ll make this worth it to us.”

Since that was nothing but the truth, John kept his mouth shut on that subject. “If you’ll excuse me, Dr. Bryce, I have things I need to attend to.”

“Yeah, I know. Let the nurse’s station there know if you two need anything,” Bryce waved a hand over to a counter down the hall. “For god’s sake, try to get that man cleaned up a bit. He looks like a serial killer.”

With that, Bryce wandered off and John went about his way gathering up various things. 

By the time he’d returned to the room, pushing a cart with all the necessities, only another twenty minutes had passed. In all that time, Belmont didn’t appeared to have moved at all. He was still staring into the operating theater with all the focus of a lion stalking its prey. His normally neatly braided hair was a wild mess, and there was blood dried up under his long, neatly pointed fingernails. 

Worry gnawed at John’s gut. He liked his boss, and it pained him to see such a good man in such dire straits. 

“I’ve got all the things for a sponge bath there,” John said into the quiet of the room. “Hot water, cloths. I even found some cleaning picks for your nails and some dry shampoo if you want.”

Belmont didn’t even answer properly, he just made a soft noise of acknowledgement and kept staring. 

Unsurprisingly, the bag of takeout that John had had someone deliver to him was still sitting untouched. He’d ordered from Belmont’s favorite spot for dinner meetings. Something light and easy on the stomach. A bowl of hot noodle soup, some freshly baked bread with herbed butter, and a fruit tart in case he wanted something sweet. Belmont normally barely ate anything at all, and John couldn’t image that he’d be feeling any hungrier given what he was staring at. 

Still, it was worth a shot. 

“Mr. Belmont, if you can, you should try to eat something. Or at least get some liquids in you.”

That actually made Belmont huff out a laugh, though it sounded both bitter and incredibly unamused. At least it was a reaction, though.

“You sound like my Father.” Mr Belmont shook his head. “He’s always on me to eat more.” Mr. Belmont turned to cast a quick look at the bag of takeout. “Not now. Maybe later. Geralt might be hungry when he wakes.”

John blinked, and kept his mouth nailed shut. No way the guy down there was gonna be awake any time in the next week, no matter how certain Belmont was that the guy was gonna wake up the moment the scalpels were put away. 

Also, who the hell was this guy? He showed up with honest to god arrows shoved in him, enough to nearly make him look like porcupine. Castlevania City had seen some fairly strange things, but as far as John knew, there weren’t any longbow gangs running around the mean streets. 

His gaze was drawn to the twin swords on one of the tables. This guy, Geralt, was wearing armor. He had _swords_. 

Again, Castlevania was a strange place, and about a year ago John knew a number of people who would have been thrilled to have a sword on hand. But still. It was just weird. 

Since John hadn’t been asked to leave, he found a chair in the corner and waited, quietly reading on his phone. 

It took another fifteen minutes of Mr. Belmont staring at the ongoing surgery before the man moved. The sudden activity after the eerie stillness was startling enough John raised his head from the latest update messages his team sent him. Mr. Belmont was standing, eyes still fixed on the surgery below, but he had his jacket already off and was working on the cufflinks at his wrists.

John got up to help. He took away the discarded suit jacket and folded it, stuffing it into the plastic bag he prepared earlier. He would take it to the cleaners. They were usually capable of miracles, but he doubted even they could help with this level of staining. 

His boss discarded the cufflinks, throwing them carelessly onto the table. One of them skidded sideways and then off onto the floor; the blue gem inserted into the white gold winked briefly in the harsh light as it fell. John lunged for it before it got lost. He was all too aware that those were worth a small fortune, considering the gems were the highest quality sapphires. 

He remembered the shopping trip where they’d bought them. Belmont had looked over the expensive cufflinks and scoffed, commenting that the gems inset into them were such low quality he had no intention of paying such high prices for them. Shortly after that, he produced a small pouch of different precious stones---each one so clear and pure that John had no doubt they were beyond anything even a high quality shop had to offer---and demanded John order some cufflinks, tie clips, and watches made with the stones. John had left the office and promptly called a full team of security because this was a small fortune he had in his hands. He had to admit, he was pleased with what he eventually ordered. 

It drove home the difference between them, how his boss just didn’t seem to care about losing one of those cufflinks.

To preempt any more throwing, John stuck his hand out for the tie pin. That got him a sideways look and a tiny huff of amusement from Belmont. The pin, also inset with a brilliant blue sapphire, got deposited into his palm with care that was just a tiny bit exaggerated. 

The tie itself John didn’t even try to save. He just carried it over to the bin and threw it away.

After that, Belmont started unbuttoning the shirt. While it was good quality and a designer label, John felt it wasn’t worth it to try to save the silk and cotton blend. The stains would never come out of the snow white material without serious chemicals being involved. He knew enough about his boss’ over sensitive sense of smell to know he would never wear it again anyway. Into the waste bin it went.

He put the cufflinks and tie pin away in his briefcase, to be put into the work safe later. He had a feeling Belmont wasn’t in the right state of mind to think of such details right now.

When he turned back to his boss, he was frozen stupid at the sight in front of him. He was facing Belmont’s back, now mostly bare as he was almost finished shucking off his soiled shirt. John expected the paleness. His boss’ face was a clear indication that color was something hard to come by on his complexion, and the white hair only exacerbating that expectation. 

What he did not expect was how incredibly fit Belmont was. It was astonishing to see the smooth shift of undeniably powerful muscles and the way they were delineated under the pale skin as Belmont reached for the bag of takeout. Dumbstruck, John watched as his boss pulled out the chopsticks for the noodle soup, broke them apart, and then put them between his lips. He reached up to quickly tie his hair into a messy twist which he then speared with the chopsticks. The cheap wood all but disappeared into the thick mass of messy hair.

It still looked wild, but at least it was off his shoulders. Small locks fell down the sides of his face, covering his ears and tickling his neck. It made his boss look so much younger, barely John’s age really, and so…pretty. He looked softer, too. The line of his jaw was clean and the curve of his lips almost gentle. 

Then John looked down, mostly because his boss was too tall to look up at him for too long without getting a crick in the neck, and he froze for a completely different reason. 

Belmont turned to reach for the washcloth and started lathering it up with one of those tiny hotel room soap bars John had scrounged up. That put him with his front to John. The powerful musculature, so unexpected of a businessman, wasn’t surprising given what he’d already seen. But the wide, ragged scar bisecting Belmont’s torso from shoulder to hip, faded white from age, was definitely not something he ever thought he would see on his reserved employer. 

It was ugly too. It had healed jagged and uneven, as if it hadn’t even been given any medical attention after it happened. Belmont didn’t even seem to remember it existed. His movements were sure, unhindered by the scar tissue, and his eyes kept darting back down towards the operating theater. All of his focus stayed on the surgery as he absently swiped the washcloth over his stomach. Some distant part of John’s mind expected washboard abs like that only existed on TV and gym ads, not on actual, real people. 

Reflexively, John sucked his own stomach in, suddenly feeling inadequate with his soft belly and lack of any real muscles to show. It wasn’t that he was fat. He was just…slender. It’s not like he had a lot of time to work out. Before this very instant, he would have assumed Belmont was in the same boat.

The scar was hard to reconcile, mute proof of previous violence done to such a kind man. He was used to Belmont wielding power in a boardroom or from behind a desk, with his sharp mind and seemingly endless knowledge. John did not expect him to be physically powerful, obviously extensively trained, and he even less expected the massive scar. Something about its placement and the way it cut across his middle had a certain deliberateness to it. As if somebody tried to eviscerate him.

John swallowed, reeling not from any single thing, but from the total of them. Up until now, John always thought his boss was an aloof, yet intrinsically gentle man. To witness this physical proof of violence on his body, to see that under his suit he was physically fit to a level John had never seen on a real human before, as well as the circumstances that brought them here, put cracks in the image of who John thought Belmont was. 

The man Belmont had brought to the hospital, broken and bleeding, was intimidating as well. Between the swords and the obvious armor, the scars on his face, and the multitude of injuries, old and new, and all the damage the doctors were struggling to fix now…all of that was painting a completely different, much more disturbing image of his boss than John ever expected.

Just what did Belmont get up to when he wasn’t at the office?

Belmont was quick in his ablutions. He finished cleaning his chest with brisk efficiency. Then he made sure his hands were clean, carefully ran a pick under his nails, and put on a new shirt. After that the change of pants was a quick thing. Just a few sweeps of the washcloth were enough to clean his knees and thighs of the blood that soaked through the expensive wool blend. In a few minutes he was put together and immaculate as always; the new dark grey, subtly-pinstriped suit hid away the powerful physique and softened the edges again.

Belmont carefully unpinned his hair and spritzed some of the dry shampoo onto it. After a quick rub down, he shook his head, letting his crazy mane fall where it would. Then he went to stand next to the window again, watching.

The blood was all gone, cleaned away, and the new suit did wonders to make him look sane again. But his hair was still wild, if cleaner. 

And still Belmont stared.

“They’ll be finishing up soon,” Belmont said softly. “This next part will be tricky.”

It almost seemed like Belmont was talking to himself. But it wouldn’t be the first time that John played sounding board, so he asked, “How so?”

“Geralt is going to panic when he wakes up. And then it’ll be a chore convincing him to stay in bed.”

Again, John just blinked. What the _fuck_.

But Belmont kept going. “I’m going to need your help keeping him occupied.” 

Wait what now. 

If massive, several-hours-long, full-body surgery wasn’t enough to keep this guy down in bed, John wasn’t really sure what the fuck he was supposed to do about the situation. But John just licked his lips and nodded, at least trying to pretend to be confident in his abilities. “Alright.”

The time ticked down, and John could practically feel Belmont’s anxiety. He was as tense as a damn tight rope. 

There was a small sigh, and Belmont ran a hand through his hair. “It’s time. It’ll be annoying enough forcing my way in there alone. Stay here until we move out, then follow us to whatever room has been set up.”

“Yes, sir.”

Belmont was already moving out the door, not even waiting for the answer. 

John walked over to the window and took a look down. He hadn’t wanted to earlier, both because it seemed like a very private thing and because he wasn’t sure he could actually stomach watching surgery in action. 

Now he was glad for his discretion, because the man on the table down there had more stitches then a quilt. His arms and legs were already wrapped up and covered in blankets, but his torso was just finishing being stitched off. 

Jesus, it looked like they’d cracked this guys’ ribs open. How was he even alive?

They’d barely managed to wrap bandages around the man’s chest and Mr. Belmont was waltzing into the surgery theater. No scrubs. No face mask. Just walked in dressed in his suit like it was a goddamn boardroom. John wanted to facepalm, but all he could really do was just stare, jaw dropped in horror. Or maybe awe. It was hard to tell. 

The nurses rushed over to stop him, but Belmont just pressed them aside like they were nothing. 

Sure enough, just as Belmont had said, Geralt’s heartbeat picked up. Its slow, rhythmic beep that filled the room became more and more rapid. His eyes began to flutter, and his fingers twitched.

That was when John remembered he had mics here attached to all the monitors. Belmont had kept them at a nearly non existent volume, but there wasn’t any reason to leave it so low now. John turned it up, curiosity eating him alive. 

“Geralt, don’t move.” Mr. Belmont’s voice was firm, deeper than John was used to. He had his hand on the man’s forehead and was leaning in low, his hair falling forward to brush the man’s face. The doctors and nurses squawked, trying to get Mr. Belmont to move. Then they squawked again when the patient’s arm twisted and flailed, knocking aside some of the equipment placed on both sides of him.

Geralt’s eyes fluttered again, and then opened to focus on Belmont. There was a deep gurgling sound; he was trying to talk around the intubation tube in his throat. 

“You’re safe,” Mr. Belmont said with that deep voice and caught the flailing arm, pressing it down onto the bed. “_Don’t move_. You are in my home city. The doctors just finished putting you back together. If you move around you will break the stitches and we will have to do this all over again.” Mr. Belmont was pressing down still, keeping Geralt as still as possible.

Geralt blinked again, glancing around quickly, but then his gaze settled back onto Belmont’s face. The heartbeat monitor slowed down just a little, and he seemed to stop struggling. 

When one of the surgeons moved forward to check the bandages, Geralt flinched back so hard that he nearly knocked over something again. But Belmont just held him down, as effortlessly as he’d pushed aside the nurses and doctors earlier. 

“It’s fine. You’re safe. I won’t let anyone harm you. They’re going to check your bandages, and then take this tube out of your throat.”

“Excuse me! We are not---” But the doctor in question didn’t get a chance to finish that statement.

“You will take it out, or he will,” Belmont said. His voice dropped registers again, barely coming out as a low growl. He motioned down to where Geralt’s hand was already locked onto his wrist. No man fresh out of surgery should have this much control over his muscles. 

“This is malpractice. You’re going to kill him,” one of the other surgeons muttered. But he wasn’t stepping forward to stop anyone. Eventually one of the nurses walked up, and with a nod to both Belmont and Geralt, started working on untaping the tube. 

“I’m going to touch your throat, sir,” she said quietly. Geralt’s eyes focused on her for a moment. The cameras were high enough quality to show his cat slit eyes. He blinked, once, and his pupils refocused down to thin lines. 

Holy shit. He had cat eyes. Yellow, vertical slit pupil cat eyes.

Carefully and calmly, she stripped off the tape, turned off the machine, and then placed a hand on the tube. “This is going to be uncomfortable, but it will be quick.” 

Then it was out, and Geralt was coughing weakly.

“Thank fuck,” he wheezed, voice raspy and cracked. A pained groan escaped him, but when he looked up to Belmont’s face again, a tiny smile stretched across his face. “Sight for sore eyes.”

John couldn’t see whatever expression Belmont made in return, which was a damn pity. 

“Don’t talk yet,” Mr. Belmont said in a gentle voice that was direct contrast to his previous low threat. His hand on Geralt’s forehead twitched, as if he was going to a stroke and aborted the movement on the last second. “Let them finish moving you to your room. We can talk after.”

Geralt nodded weakly, and then closed his eyes. But he never took his hand off of Belmont’s wrist. 

“Holy god,” one of the nurses whispered. The surgeons just stood and stared. The nurse who’d helped with the tube kept moving along, disconnecting Geralt from most of the machines and getting the gurney ready for transport. 

“If you’ll just hang tight for a little while longer, sirs, we’re going to head you out now. Try to keep your eyes closed, the lights above you in the hall are a little disorienting. We’ll tell you when we’re at your room.”

“A little,” Geralt croaked with something that obviously tried to be a laugh. Mr. Belmont shushed him immediately.

Then they were wheeling their way out, leaving a group of completely stunned hospital staff in their wake. 

John stared for a moment longer, just as stunned as the surgeons. Then he shook his head, pulling his mind back into the moment. Mr. Belmont expected him to meet them.

Quickly as he could, he gathered up all of the miscellaneous personal effects from the room and piled them on the cart he’d taken. Including the swords, and holy shit were they heavy. And a little worn, too. The handles looked like they’d seen use.

John resolved not to think too deeply on it. Maybe Geralt was an actor.

He thought about those bright yellow cat eyes, and just how many arrows Geralt had in him. While John gathered things up, he realized that the mics were still on in the operating theater below.

“I’m telling you, it’s not possible.”

“Clearly it is, because we just saw it.”

“He just...woke up! After a---how many hours have we been here? Ten? Twelve?”

“Fifteen,” a third voice added.

“Fifteen hour long major surgery! And you damn well know that went faster than it should have.”

“He’s right, David. We should have been in here for two days straight with the number of injuries he had.”

“Well there were three of us working. That mitigates it.” The first voice still sounded uncertain, though.

“Why are we pretending that the person we just worked on was even human,” the second voice said.

“Well he sure had an awful lot in common with a human,” the third voice responded dryly. “Same bone structure, same organs and placement, same internal systems…”

“Vertical slit pupils and reflective membrane in the back of the eye…”

“...I’m not saying there weren’t anomalies---”

There was a snort.

“---But honestly, you all know damn well we’ve seen stranger things.” 

“...That’s true.”

“So rather than get upset over it, we should try talking to our patient. I don’t know about you, but I’d love it if all my surgeries had such a success rate.”

At that point, John couldn't justify dawdling any longer to listen. He had a job to do, and it sounded like at least two out of the three surgeons were taking the whole situation with relative ease. That would help him out later, John was sure. 

Right before he left the room, he paused and looked back to the wastebin that held Belmont’s soiled tie and shirt. Things covered in blood from that extremely unusual man. John didn’t know what someone could do with that, but he’d seen enough crime shows to know to wonder.

He beelined back and grabbed the whole waste bag, then he tossed in anything that might have had a bit of blood on it. He could burn it later. Everything that couldn’t be tossed got wiped down with a cloth dipped in Purell.

It wasn’t that John was paranoid. It was just that Mr. Belmont paid him to pay attention to the little details. If Belmont wanted the hospital to have some of his guest’s blood, he could supervise a draw.

Since John had already scoped out the room they would be in, he headed directly there.

He arrived just as the nurses finished sliding Geralt onto the permanent bed in that room. John waited off to the side as they got settled.

The first nurse, the one from the surgery room, went on to explain some of what Geralt was hooked up to. It didn’t seem like either Geralt or Belmont were paying attention, so John made sure to take notes. Throughout it all, Belmont kept one hand on Geralt’s chest, and the other gently rested on his forehead. For his part, Geralt kept his loose grip on Belmont’s wrist, holding that hand still over his heart.

“Thank you, nurse,” Belmont said quietly, once she was finished. 

“Please, call me Victoria,” she said with a warm smile. “The doctors will be in to talk with you about the surgery just as soon as they’re cleaned up. Please don’t hesitate to let us know if you need anything. Here’s the call button, that will ring us up immediately. We’ll also stop by to check up on you periodically, just to see how things are going.”

With that, she and the other nurse took themselves out. 

John stood off to the side, waiting. Ostensibly, he was looking through his phone, checking up on progress for the twenty or so tasks he was in the middle of juggling. Mostly, though, he was watching Belmont and Geralt out of the corner of his eye. 

He’d never seen Belmont be so tactile with anyone. Sure, Belmont would shake hands with people when introduced. That was kind of part of business. But he wasn’t a warm person to be around. He didn’t invite personal closeness, not in any way, shape, or form. 

But here he was, touching Geralt on the chest and head, and having his wrist held in return. There was an intimacy to the touch that John couldn’t put his finger on. Where they particularly close family? They didn’t really look alike, though they both had that pure white hair. Were they cousins? Or step-siblings? Lovers, maybe? Belmont almost never talked about his personal life. The rare few times it did come up, it was only in passing, like the comment earlier about how his old man nagged him about eating. 

“Al’c’rd,” Geralt slurred softly, his voice still a cracked, awful wreck. He pried his eyes open to look up at Belmont, but even John could see it was a monumental effort. Whatever he was trying to say, Belmont seemed to understand, though, because it made Belmont’s lips quirk up for a moment.

“Shush. Save your energy for healing,” Belmont said softly. 

With the way they looked at each other, John couldn’t help but wonder if they’d forgotten he was in the room. Something was definitely going on there, and the explanation of ‘brothers’ was looking more and more unlikely.

With the hand that wasn’t wrapped around Belmont’s wrist, Geralt waved a finger at Belmont’s suit. There was a questioning quirk to his eyebrows, and a hint of a smile at his mouth. Given the light bandages across one temple and the bruises that still decorated one side of his face, the expression was strained, but he got the message across.

“I’m expected to dress like this while I’m here.” Belmont’s expression was a mix of worry and amusement, and was more expressive than John saw the vast majority of the time. The curious tilt to Geralt’s head seemed to encouraging him to speak, because Belmont continued. 

“Castlevania City was built on the ruins of Dracula’s castle, its original incarnation.” John had to raise his eyebrows at that. The wording there implied that there were multiple versions of Dracula’s castle. Now, John wasn’t a theologist or a history major, but he’d really only heard of one version of the dreaded lord’s palace. Not to mention the fact that this was all well known, ancient history. Why in the hell would whatever Belmont needed to explain start with that? “Humans have come a long way since the castle crumbled, centuries ago. Some of the structures are the same, but many are not. Humans built up towards the sky with Dracula’s indestructible stonework at its roots. It has never been an easy place to live, too much of Dracula’s rage-fueled darkness had soaked into the earth, but it was workable. Humans thrived. I would have stayed out of the public affairs here, but recent events forced my hand. The people here needed more help than what I could offer from a discreet distance.” 

Belmont fell silent after that, his eyes cast down to study the bandaged chest under his hand. 

John had never heard why Belmont had arrived to be a white knight for the city. Not beyond the official reasons at least, that Trevor Belmont had seen the terribly plight of the people here and couldn’t bear to let them suffer. In all the time John had been working for Belmont, he’d never seen anything that contradicted that story. He’d often thought there was something more to it, though. A person doesn’t usually dump so much time and sustained effort into any endeavor without a compelling personal reason.

“Y’r helpin’,” Geralt whispered, a tiny smile tugging at his lips. 

“It is my duty. So it is for all Belmonts. Even my Father...in his own way. In times past, he was too filled with rage. It consumed him. But now...”

Belmont stiffened in place, and then looked down to Geralt in alarm. 

“Father,” he said in a strained whisper, and looked at all the bandages. “I left so quickly. I didn’t think about what I said. He probably---” Belmont closed his eyes slowly, slumping his shoulders and hanging his head low. He took his hand off of Geralt’s forehead and covered his own face. “_Fuck_.”

John almost dropped his phone in shock. He’d never, not once _ever_, heard Belmont swear. Not even a little swear, let alone the F-bomb. 

From the look on Geralt’s face, this wasn’t particularly unusual though. He actually looked a little sympathetic, and weakly patted the hand still on his chest.

The silence stretched for a little bit, while Belmont clearly was trying to think through whatever family drama he’d left behind. It was actually a little reassuring. No matter how rich or powerful, even folks like Belmont had issues with their parents.

“You need to go?” Geralt asked very slowly and very quietly, as if he was trying very hard to be clear. Each word was barely audible over the ambient sounds of the heat vent blowing into the room and the steady beep of the heart monitor. 

Now Belmont looked truly torn. His hands clenched up into fists and his face had twisted into a pained grimace. 

“Not yet,” Belmont said, finally. “I need to make sure you're okay first.”

Geralt breathed out a little sigh of relief and nodded, eyes closing again. 

Before either one of them could say anything else, there was a quiet knock at the door. 

“Come,” Belmont said, composing himself. His expression smoothed into the pleasant neutrality that John knew so well, though he kept one hand on Geralt’s chest. 

In walked the three surgeons from the operating theater. To John’s complete lack of surprise, they all looked tired. It seemed to be a general mood for everyone. On top of that, though, they also had varying expressions of concern and interest. 

“Mr. Belmont. Geralt,” the first man said, stepping forward. He was tall and thin, his skin was ghost pale and he had a salt and pepper colored buzz cut. Over a fresh set of scrubs he had on his doctor’s coat, and was carrying what must have been Geralt’s chart. He almost took a step forward, raising his hand to Belmont for a hand shake. Then he aborted the movement, seeming to notice how Belmont was still holding onto Geralt. “My name is Doctor David Miller. I was the head surgeon during the operation today. These are my associates, and the other surgeons who were with me in the theater, Doctor Jane Manly, and Doctor Robert Whitney.” 

He waved at the other two doctors with him. Jane Manly was a short woman with dark hair and a face that seemed to want to smile, though her current expression was set in something similar to a dry smirk. She held a couple of dark colored plastic bags, though it wasn’t clear what was inside them. Robert Whitney brought up the rear, standing slightly behind Dr. Manly. He had his arms crossed over his chest and a sour twist to his mouth. His shoulder length brown hair was tied back under a bandana, and he slouched a little in place. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Dr. Manly said with a smile. “And may I congratulate you on surviving your surgery.” She smiled a little wider at Geralt. He smirked in return and winked at her. Once she spoke, John recognized her as the third voice from the theater, the one that had been urging the others to calm down.

Dr. Whitney just nodded at the rest of the room and hung back. 

Dr. Miller cast a look over to John, and then looked back to Belmont. “We’d like to have a chat with you about the results…”

“John can stay,” Belmont said dismissively. “He’ll be here a great deal anyways, helping me as I need it.”

Yeah, John knew that was inevitable. More overtime pay for him, he supposed. It was kind of nice not to be left out of the loop, though. 

“Alright. Well.” Dr. Miller shifted in place for a moment, and flipped through Geralt’s chart. “I feel like maybe this doesn’t need to be said, but I’m gonna say it anyways. You---” he looked at Geralt sharply “---should not have survived this. I have never, ever seen a single person take this much damage and live. This is by far the most elaborate full body surgery I have ever taken part in.”

“I’m kind of surprised, too,” Geralt chimed in shakily, clearly exhausted and fighting sleep.

“Which brings up the second thing,” Dr. Miller continued. “None of us have any idea why you are awake and talking. You should be unconscious, just from the shock alone.” He floundered for a moment, his jaw working but no sound coming out. 

“Induced mutations at an early age, specifically designed for this purpose. Increased healing and resistance to shock or pain, as well as high efficiency in processing toxic substances,” Belmont said with a sigh, his thumb rubbing gentle circles over Geralt’s chest.

Stunned silence reigned in the room for a moment. 

“Huh. Well. That does explain it,” Dr. Whitney grumbled. 

“Just in case you want them, we pulled these out of you.” Dr. Manly raised up the bags. “This one is arrows. I’d honestly suggest we just burn them, considering they’re coated with an as of yet unidentified toxin. This one has other items. Which, again, we are all most impressed at your resilience. And perhaps suggest you consider requesting that Mr. Belmont keep a surgeon on staff?” She raised an eyebrow at Belmont.

Geralt gave Belmont a side eye and raised eyebrow. “Mr. Belmont?”

A smirk tugged at Belmont’s lips, and he said, “Don’t worry, you can still call me Trevor.”

Geralt looked at Belmont with a strange expression, half amused, half something else before he blinked and answered, very obviously trying to enunciate clearly.

“I will, then.”

The whole exchange was incredibly bizarre, though the strangest part for John was the fact that it looked like his boss had just flirted. 

That...

That had never happened before.

It was through sheer willpower that John managed to keep his jaw from hanging open. 

“Riiiight…” Dr. Miller said, glancing back and forth between the two. 

“Are there any data from the…medical experimentation...available?” Dr. Whitney asked.

“Anything you can tell us would give us a better idea of what we’ll be looking at for your recovery,” Dr. Manly added. “Because right now, we’re all still shocked you lived. If you were a regular…well, unenhanced human, I’d say your recovery timeline would be extensive. If all went well, maybe out of ICU in a month. Regular bed here for several more weeks after that. Outpatient care for the next six months, followed by couple years of physical therapy. But…” She shrugged. 

“If I’m not bleeding out, I’m good,” Geralt slurred the last word a little before blinking and clearly focusing again.

Belmont actually rolled his eyes and stared at the ceiling for a moment. “You are not good. Not fine or any permutation of such. You would have been better if you came to me for help before you were at death’s door.” Belmont all but growled. Then he closed his eyes, took a deep breath and continued more calmly. “You are resting if I have to tie you down to the bed.”

“You know why I couldn’t come sooner,” Geralt said quietly. “I had to drag them away from the towns. I couldn’t let there be any more collateral damage.”

“If you died, it’s not the towns we would have to worry about.”

“I tried to get back to you once I thought I could. The way wouldn’t stay open though. It didn’t get bad until I started that. I would have been a little hurt, but fine if I’d gotten through the first try. They---” his face twisted in frustration for a moment, and he winced, his hand spasming around Belmont’s wrist. “They kept blocking the way, and every time I tried to call the Wolf, they got closer to me. Like they could sense it.”

“You have been unconscious for close to seventeen hours,” Belmont said. “Whatever retribution my Father planned for you, it’s done already.”

That earned Belmont a flat look. “You really think he’d be done in under a day?”

“If we are lucky,” Belmont said gravely. “He holds enough affection for you, he might have listened to your plea.” 

Belmont sounded so serious, almost grim. John could tell there was something they were talking around, but couldn’t figure out what. Still, there was something a little ominous in the way Belmont talked about his dad. Maybe that was how people in power thought of their parents. John couldn’t say. His own father was a retired accountant and while they always had financial security, they were never among the rich and the powerful.

The doctors looked like they were completely fucking lost in this conversation, too. But John knew from experience that the kind of money that Belmont could throw at things allowed him a huge amount of leeway in how people treated him. 

“As for his medical records, there are none,” Belmont said, abruptly turning towards the doctors. “We will have to take it step by step.”

“Tell me the damage, and I’ll tell you how long it will take me to be back on my feet,” Geralt said weakly. 

“...Alright.” Dr. Miller moved over to the light board on the wall, flipped it on, and started putting up images. “These are some images we took during surgery. Some of them are pretty shaky, but we were doing it while trying to operate on you at the same time. You have fourteen broken bones.” He started pointing to various parts of the body. “Here in the arm, fingers, ribs, clavicle, ankle, and foot. You’ve got several dozen fractures in various spots. Then there’s all the soft tissue damage. The arrows ruptured several of your internal organs, which have now been stitched together. Amazingly, nothing hit your heart, and your lungs got off light compared to the rest of you. There were so many toxins in your blood we couldn’t actually distinguish between them. Several compounds are so far completely unidentifiable. On top of that there was the massive blood loss, general trauma, some infection, and all the shrapnel.”

Now John’s jaw really did drop. How, again, was this guy still alive?

“Fingers should be usable tomorrow, healed fully in three days,” Geralt said slowly. “Bigger bones…” He hesitated, or just fought off sleep again. “I will be able to move in two, three days. Less than two weeks for them to fully mend.”

Again, he hesitated.

“Not sure about the internal organs. As long as I’m not bleeding out they will heal up, probably a little over a week? Maybe? Depends on how much I get to eat.”

Geralt yawned widely, wincing hard at the tail end of the movement.

“Some of the toxins were mine, it’s what kept me from bleeding out on the run. Infection will clear out by itself now that there’s nothing stuck inside me to reawaken it.”

It briefly looked like someone had run around the room and slapped everyone in the back of the head with a board, because the doctors all had identical looks of shock. John was right there with them, too. 

The only person who didn’t seem concerned was Belmont. He just scowled and said, “You’ll be in bed for longer than two days. You are staying put for at least a week. After that we’ll talk about slow walks around the room.”

“I need to go back,” Geralt insisted.

Belmont raised himself, straightened, and suddenly lost all traces of the soft, flirting man he’d been just a few minutes earlier.

“Good luck doing that without my permission or help.” 

And that, John could tell, was a threat. Very calmly delivered, and very final.

There was a brief pause as Geralt pursed his lips and looked steadily at Belmont. Then he sighed. “So be it, pretty wolf. I’ll stay. I’m just worried.”

That seemed to soften up Belmont, but only a tiny bit. “As are we. This was too close, Geralt.”

“I know.” Geralt closed his eyes, drifting a little. It only lasted a moment, though. Then he shook his head very minutely, as if to rouse himself, and looked back up to the doctors. “I won’t need much attention. You’ll hardly notice me.”

The look that Dr. Miller and Dr. Whitney exchanged told John just how much they believed that big, fat lie. 

Meanwhile, Dr. Manly just asked, “We’d like to run some tests…”

“No.” Belmont looked at her. “You did amazing job putting him back together, but there will be no record of him ever being in this hospital, nor will there be any tests performed beyond what was done already.” Then he looked to John. “My aide will send people to your labs to remove the information from the system.”

John was already typing out messages to their lawyers and security group. They’d be well armed with both gag orders and bribes, as needed. 

“But the potential to save lives here would be---” 

“I would not only die, but kill to make sure the experiments that created me will never be repeated. The success rate was less than ten percent anyway, and they carried out the procedure for generations.” Geralt exhaled. “This dies with me.”

To that, Dr. Manly had nothing to say. She was clearly taken aback by his grim response, and cast worried looks at both her colleagues. 

“Children, doctor,” Belmont said. “When I said ‘a young age’ I meant children. And less than one in ten patients survived the procedure.” He looked each of the doctors in the eye. “I will not approve human experimentation, much less repeating the process that Geralt was subjected to as a child.”

“Is that your call to make?” Dr. Manly asked.

“Since I was the one to clean up Bioquimek’s mess, yes, it is my call to make.”

“I’m good to leave here if you want,” Geralt said dryly. “Just roll out a blanket on your floor and I’m set.”

Belmont glared down at Geralt.

“Don’t push your luck.”

Geralt snorted softly in amusement, and then winced. “Ow.”

“We can try painkillers,” Belmont said. “Let’s hope with a high enough dose they’ll work.”

That actually made Geralt pause and think for a moment. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever bothered with a painkiller. I mean, aside from just getting falling down drunk, and that takes so damn long and so much booze it’s hardly even worth it. I can’t even think of a single other witcher that’s bothered to come up with a potion for it either. It might work.”

“What do you mean, it _might_ work?” Dr. Whitney straightened out suddenly from his slouch. “We are giving him the standard dose for his weight already.”

“Oh?” Geralt looked surprised. “Kinda still feels like you cracked open my ribs and rearranged things. That’s actually happened before, so I’m being literal.”

The doctors looked at each other with eyes wide in horror.

“Jesus, he’s feeling it.” 

Dr. Manly lurched to Geralt’s bedside and started frantically looking at readouts and screens. “We should have known. We had to up the sedation by factor of seven for it to hold him down, no wonder a standard dose is not registering.” 

“Call up the anesthesiologist. We need a specialist here,” Dr. Miller said quickly.

“Not sure why you’d even bother,” Geralt said, his voice dull with exhaustion. “It’ll just heal in a couple days.”

For a brief moment, Belmont actually looked like he wanted to strangle Geralt.

“Just because you can stand the pain doesn’t mean it’s not putting stress on your body. You will heal faster and rest better if you are pain free,” Belmont said tightly.

John felt queasy thinking of the agony that Geralt must be in right now after such an extensive surgery. The fact that he was so coherent and able to talk was nothing short of mindblowing.

“How are you not just screaming from the pain?” Dr. Whitney whispered in horror.

“Practice,” Geralt said.

And that was the most terrifying answer yet. Good lord, no wonder Belmont said he’d need help keeping this guy in a bed. More and more, John was feeling inadequate to the job. 

The anesthesiologist must have been waiting nearby, because she was there only minutes after Dr. Whitney had stepped out to request assistance. It actually took longer for the combined people there to convince her to give what she was certain were lethal doses of narcotics to an extremely wounded patient, than it did for the drugs to take effect. 

“Oh,” Geralt said, his eyes fluttering closed as the dosage hit. He was deep asleep as soon as the last sound left his mouth, his chest raising and falling slowly and evenly as the heart monitor continued to beep steadily in the background.

Belmont closed his eyes, too, and sighed with relief. “Thank you, doctor. You have no idea how frustrating it is to try and get him to rest.”

“...I think we’ve got an idea,” Dr. Miller said dryly. Dr. Manly snorted. 

Over the course of the next few minutes, the various doctors filed their way out of the room. John took notes on who would be on call first, and made sure to get the names of everyone involved in this whole event. He was sure once it was all done, Belmont would want to compensate everyone for their hard work. Not only that, but he’d probably want additional nondisclosure agreements ready and waiting for each of them by morning. 

“John,” Belmont said quietly, startling him out of his frenzied work. “It’s been a long day, and you’ve worked very hard. Go get a few hours sleep.” 

Despite the craziness of the day, that made John smile a little. Even after everything that had happened, his boss was still making sure he had time to rest. 

From the look of things, Belmont himself was about ready to drop too. There weren’t really any physical signs. No dark circles or red eyes. He was looking exceptionally pale, and there was a weight to how he stood, a droop to his shoulders that spoke of bone deep exhaustion.

John was tempted to go find an extra bed somewhere, but he was also a little worried about not being on hand if something came up. Something set uneasily with him about leaving Belmont and Geralt unattended. He thought for a moment longer, and then resolved to find a pillow and a blanket, and just crash in the hall outside. 

“Thank you, Mr. Belmont,” he said. “I’ll be right outside if you need me.”

“In a bed, John,” Belmont said. “Sleep in a bed,” he repeated, casting him a wry look. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

“I’ll bring breakfast,” John said with a pointed look. He knew damn well Belmont hadn’t eaten a single bite the whole day.

“Get enough for five people,” Belmont looked down at Geralt. “He’ll be hungry when he wakes up.”

“Any requests for something you’d like?”

“Fresh bread and herb butter if you can find it,” Belmont said after a beat.

“Will do, boss,” John said with a tired grin, and showed himself out.

He hurried to finish setting up his appointed tasks. Tomorrow would come too quickly. 

\--

“It’s Dracula,” Yennefer said, her voice oddly echoing through the spelled mirror. 

Triss nodded. “His energy signature is unmistakable.”

“So you’ve actually seen whatever is going on?” 

Triss shifted on her feet uneasily. Hours ago she’d felt something strange, a tension far in the distance that rippled through the local energy matrices. What she’d found wasn’t encouraging in the least bit. 

“No.” Triss shook her head and shivered, thinking of the miasma of darkness that covered the whole area. It was so thick that none of her scrying spells let her see anything beyond the boiling dark clouds.

“He said he wasn’t going to meddle.” Yennefer’s image frowned.

“It’s been over a year,” Triss said. “He hasn’t…so far.”

“The rest of the lodge is worried. This is a new power. Accusations are flying like birds every which way.” Yennefer shook her head. “They suspect Nilfgaard, but Nilfgaard worships the sun. Ostensibly, anyways.”

“He didn’t strike me as a man who would start something just for fun. He has a reason, I am sure.”

Silence stretched between them for a moment. 

“Do you think Geralt is alright?” Yennefer asked quietly.

“It might not be him,” Triss said tightly. “Maybe something happened with Alucard. Or maybe on a different world, and we’re just the punching bag.”

“Or maybe it’s just random, because he is a damn god of chaos,” Yennefer spat out. “How does Geralt always do this?”

“Get in trouble?” Triss asked, humor curling her lips.

Yennefer sighed, pressing her palm to her forehead. “Right. Stupid question.”

As far as Triss could tell, the area of darkness was slowly spreading towards the nearest city. If the locals were smart, they’d be heading for the hills.

“I have no idea what is happening under the darkness, but I know we can’t let it reach the city. If it does, the Temerian Royal Council will have to react. Especially after what happened in Novigrad with the dragon, everybody is already on the verge of starting up a witch hunt for whatever dark power they can find. Another incident, now in Temeria, could shift the balance of power throughout the northern kingdoms. If somebody gets the bright idea that the source of the black dragon and the cursed land it left is in Temeria, Redania will be sure to blame them for the mess in Novigrad. Even though Novigrad is a free city, they still have deals set up with the Redanian Regency Council.”

“And Geralt would be right in the middle of that mess,” Yennefer sighed.

“Not to mention the fact that if Redania starts squabbling with Temeria, Nilfgaard is sure to take advantage.” Triss thought through the latest information she had on troop movements on the border there. “As far as my spells can see, they haven’t made a move yet.”

“But it’s only a matter of time,” Yennefer said grimly. “And they might be hiding, too.”

_Damn this whole situation._

“Sometimes,” Yennefer said with a strange expression, “I’m kind of curious what would happen if a Nilfgaardian army did come for Dracula.”

“You always were the wild one,” Triss said. “It would be a massacre. There’s something…barely restrained about that man. I think he would have loved the chance to bring chaos and destruction. Question is, would he stop at just the Nilfgaardian army or continue unchecked?”

Yennefer snorted. “Once he starts, I’m not sure anything will stop him. Maybe Alucard. Or Geralt.” She pursed her lips.

“Or…maybe Ciri,” Triss mused.

“What.” Yennefer’s voice was flat with alarm.

“Hear me out.” Triss waved a hand at her. “Dracula likes her…as much that he seems to like any human. Of all of us she has the best chance of talking to him. More importantly, we know where she is. Alucard spends almost no time on this world, and who knows where Geralt is.”

“Ciri might know. You know she keeps track of him. Somewhat.” 

“All the more reason to bring her in.”

Triss could see Yennefer struggle with the idea. They all cared for Ciri, helped raise her, taught and guided her. But Yennefer had had more of a hand in that than Triss did. Yennefer had even risked everything when she stood against the Lodge of Sorceresses to protect her adopted daughter. She was bound to feel more concerned about sending Ciri into such an unstable situation. 

“Do you have a better idea?” Triss asked pointedly.

“...No.” Yennefer sighed.

“And if it really is Dracula, he is still too interested in getting into Geralt’s pants to ever act against Ciri.”

That made Yennefer snort in amusement. “True. I swear, I never thought I’d meet someone more insatiable than Geralt.”

“I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact Geralt hasn’t slept with anyone but Alucard or Dracula in _over a year_.”

“It’s unreal,” Yennefer nodded in agreement, eyes wide. She brushed her dark hair back for a moment and just blinked, clearly as astonished as Triss was a the whole situation. “He blushes. Geralt blushes near them. Like a…a…”

“Like he’s in love.” Triss kept her tone as neutral as she could, but there was a complicated brew of emotions welling inside of her. Sadness. Maybe a touch of jealousy. Pleasure, too, that Geralt was so happy. Despite everything that had happened between them, she was still his friend.

Yennefer looked down, rubbed at her eyes and then back up again.

“I never doubted he loved me,” Yennefer said. “Just like he loved you,” she added after a moment. “But this…it’s like he met the other half of his soul.”

“Two thirds,” Triss commented with a grin, hoping to make Yennefer smile.

A smirk pulled at Yennefer’s lips, and she raised an eyebrow. “Usually when people say they met their soulmate, they don’t actually exchange bits of their soul.”

“Geralt.” Triss shook her head, because really, that one word said it all. Yennefer huffed out a rueful laugh, and nodded along.

“You’ll talk to Ciri?”

Triss nodded. “Yeah. Maybe if we’re all lucky, this will blow over quickly.”

Before anything worse happened.

\---

Eskel nearly fell off his chair when the portal opened all but on top of him. The man eating his supper to the left of him did fall, spilling the contents of his plate and choking as Ciri stepped from the blindingly blue light.

“Eskel!” She greeted him with a wide smile.

_Shit_, Eskel thought, every hair on his body standing up straight. “What’s wrong,” he asked flatly.

Ciri sat down in the now-empty spot to Eskel’s left, the startled man having just fled. Various other patrons of the dive he was in were also moving away, though some with more alacrity than others.

“Ha, ha, ha it’s so funny that you should think something is wrong---”

“Ciri…” Eskel rubbed his face and sighed.

But then Ciri dropped the fake happiness and said quietly, “Dracula is doing…something in southwestern Temeria. What exactly, Triss, Yennefer, and I don’t know. We can’t See in. But whatever it is, it can’t be good.”

“Oh, Gods.” Eskel thought of how Dracula had turned into a dragon at the end of that whole kidnapping fiasco, and how Steingard’s lab had been burned down so thoroughly that it had melted down to the bedrock.

“Yeah. Exactly. We haven’t gone to look in person yet. I’m good at portals, but even I wouldn’t be able to leave if Dracula didn’t want me to. I thought it better to grab you first.”

Eskel frowned sharply at her. “The hell do you think i’m gonna be able to do?”

“Talk to him.” The look on Ciri’s face clearly said, _obviously_. “His mark is literally carved into you. Besides Geralt, you’re the best shot we have of getting him to stop whatever he’s doing. Even if he’s not doing any damage---” they both paused and exchanged a look that spoke of how unlikely that was “---the southern border with Nilfgaard is extremely unstable. None of the northern kingdoms can afford to have Temeria locked into some kind of internal battle while Nilfgaard’s armies are just waiting for an excuse to attack.”

“Or a witch hunt,” Eskel said with a grimace. He looked longingly at his dinner and sighed. “Where’s Geralt?” 

There was a long pause.

Eskel turned to look at Ciri, brows drawn in with worry. “Ciri, where is Geralt?”

“I don’t know,” she finally admitted. “I can’t find him.”

A pool of utter dread filled Eskel’s gut, and suddenly food was the last thing on his mind.

“Ciri,” Eskel said, quickly overcome with an ugly suspicion. “What if Dracula can’t find Geralt either?”

She looked at him with wide, worried eyes, and shrugged helplessly. “Please come with me. We need to talk to Dracula to find out what’s going on.”

“I would come with you just because you asked,” Eskel huffed. “But what you think I can do there is beyond me.”

When all she did was give him a hug, Eskel got even more worried.

“At worst he can snack on me while you get away, I suppose.” Eskel patted her back, feeling only a tiny bit awkward.

Ciri let out a weak laugh, and drew back to look at him. “I appreciate it.” She stood up and looked around at the patrons squished around the tables against the walls, well away from them both. “You ready?”

“Lemme grab my bag and pay for a couple fortnights worth of stabling for the horse.” Anything longer than that and Eskel knew he’d have bigger concerns than just whether or not his beast was being taken care of.

In just a few minutes, he had everything squared away.

“I’m gonna portal us to the front of the leading edge of the darkness,” Ciri said when he walked over. “That’s my best guess for where he’s at.”

“Makes sense.” Eskel nodded, and adjusted his pack on his shoulder.

“Just remember, try to get within touching distance of him!” And then she reached for his shoulders.

“Wait, why-aaaah!” Eskel’s question was cut off as he was dragged through a wall of glowing blue light.

The place they landed was so strange, so alien, that Eskel wasn’t even sure it was their world. It was hot. Hot enough that it stung his throat when he breathed the heated air in. The ground was dry and crumbling, crunching oddly under their feet as they walked. It was black, not the black of a rich soil, but the dark grey of old ashes from a fire long since burned out.

It was dusk there, maybe. From the dark clouds it was hard to tell, and a red haze colored the remaining light. It was also quiet. So very quiet that Eskel could hear Ciri’s breathing like bellows next to him. 

There was nothing but empty, burned out, flat landscape as far as the eye could see.

Eskel turned slowly, his hand automatically going for the swords at his back. He froze before he even got to pull them out. 

Now he could see Dracula walking slowly towards the dim shapes of buildings far in the distance. His red coat flared behind him, moving softly with each slow step. Flecks of darkness seemed to float off of it, trailing smudges of power and darkness behind him. Overhead, the boiling black clouds followed his footsteps, twisting and rolling forward with his every step. They looked menacing and bigger than life. Unstoppable. His dark hair floated in nonexistent currents of air and his hands were empty, not a trace of any weapon on him. 

He looked like a god in that moment, like a terrible creature of vengeance and destruction. Distant, unapproachable, and above all inhuman, for all that his shape was that of a man. 

Eskle could hear Ciri’s sharp intake of air, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of Dracula.

Maybe it was because of whatever mark Dracula had on him. Maybe it was because Eskel had been healed by Dracula’s power, over and over. Or maybe it was the fact that Eskel had spent countless hours at this point wrapped up in Dracula’s arms and power, sometimes alone, sometimes along with Alucard and Geralt. Whatever the reason, Eskel could taste Dracula’s rage in the air. He could feel the pain and anguish that rode just under that, too.

In the face of that suffering, Eskel couldn’t help but step forward. Slowly, cautiously, but forward nonetheless.

No sooner had he taken his first step then Dracula stopped. He hadn’t turned, though. His back was to them; his wide shoulders were covered by his usual red and gold coat, and flecks of power continued to sluice off of him like water.

“What are you doing here?” Dracula’s voice echoed as if a thousand mouths said the words at the same time.

“I’m here to see you,” Eskel said as calmly as he could, still stepping slowly closer. If Dracula were human, they’d be at shouting range, but Eskel knew Dracula would hear every quiet word. Just as Eskel could hear Dracula’s harsh breath and strangely echoed voice. “What happened?”

“Humans happened,” Dracula said in that cold, angry voice. “Stupid, cruel, and vicious.” The heat around them spiked, becoming even more sweltering and making Eskel break out in immediate sweat. He could taste the salt of it dripping onto his lips. “They hunted him for miles, using dogs and mages, shooting him full of arrows as if he was some kind of hunting game.”

_Fuck._

It was everyone’s worst fear. Someone decided to go piss off a greater power of darkness by fucking with that god’s chosen love. It was kind of a toss up if the victim was Alucard or Geralt. Either way, Eskel ached with pain and worry.

“Since they loved hunting so much...” Dracula said, and his voice grew louder as emotion boiled over. “I showed them what true hunting looks like,” he added with vicious satisfaction.

Eskel pressed on, moving slowly closer. It was a good sign that Dracula hadn’t just struck him down, though deep down Eskel didn’t think Dracula would. Not even in a blind rage. But there was still a fair distance between them; they were barely in normal talking range, now. A long way to go and a lot of space for something to go wrong.

“Alucard and Geralt. Are they alive?” Worry threaded every word. Eskel had a hard time feeling bad for the deaths of whichever assholes started this shitstorm, but he was deathly afraid for his friends.

“Alucard took Geralt away to his world under a time spell, a last ditch effort to save him.” Dracula turned to look at them over his shoulder. His eyes were just a pool of red light seeping slowly into the dark halo of his hair around them. “He thought I didn’t know why his spell worked on Geralt when it doesn't work on any living being.”

“Why did it work?” Eskel asked dutifully, inching a little closer, not quite paying attention to Dracula’s words. He focus was more on just being as non-threatening as possible, and gaining as much ground as he could. 

“Because Geralt was so close to being dead the spell all but confused him for a piece of inanimate meat.”

Each word carried a wealth of pain, a suffering so deep that Eskel could barely wrap his head around it. His heart ached to soothe that suffering, and still he stepped closer. Almost in arm's reach now.

“You can feel him, though, can’t you? Geralt. You’d know if he died.” Eskel was just as desperate for an answer as he thought Dracula might be.

The heat spiked again, stinging against his skin. He could hear Ciri pant where she stood back.

“I can’t feel him at all. He’s either still under Alucard’s spell or already gone beyond my reach.”

Eskel was close enough now that he could feel the raging heat radiating from Dracula’s body, as hot as any furnace or fire he’d ever been near. He looked up into those fathomless eyes and saw all that pain. 

“You’re not alone,” he said quietly, and leaned in to rest his forehead on Dracula’s shoulder. A terrible shudder raced through Dracula’s body, and Eskel moved even closer. He stepped in and around, pressing himself up against Dracula’s front and burying his face into the crook of Dracula’s neck.

Dracula said nothing, did nothing, but the heat lessened, no longer burning Eskel’s skin and lungs.

Time slipped by for a bit, and Eskel wrapped an arm around Dracula’s side, letting his hand slide under that heavy red coat to hold on to Dracula’s stone still body.

“Why won’t you go to him? To Alucard?” Eskel asked when the body under his hands felt more like flesh than a source of power barely keeping human shape.

“I _can’t_.” Dracula’s voice sounded horrible, but it had lost the strange echoing quality. This sounded more like a man in pain than a god gone mad. “My power can damage Alucard’s spell and it is the only thing giving us any hope of saving Geralt at all.”

Eskel winced. Damn whoever started this. 

“Send me,” Ciri said from behind Eskel. She must have moved in after the heat dropped. Eskel turned a bit to look at her, but kept the bulk of his weight pressed into Dracula’s immovable body and his cheek still rested on the thick gold embroidery on the coat collar. “I can travel between worlds. Give me a target, something to aim for, and I’ll go and return with news.”

Dracula looked to her then. His eyes slowly lost their eerie glow and went back to a more normal look for him; banked fire red irises on a regular white background.

“You could,” he said looking down at her. “You wouldn’t affect Alucard’s magic.” He reached under his coat and withdrew a fist sized orb glowing with blue and purple lights that twisted violently inside. Eskel stared at it. He could feel his hair raising up from just staring at it. The energy emanating off of it was chaotic and unstable. “This is a relic from that world. Be careful not to break it, else the demon inside will perish and your body will be flooded with a power I am not sure you would survive.”

Ciri stepped forward and took the glowing orb from him. “Thank you. I’ll find out what’s happened.”

“We could wait for you at Kaer Morhen,” Eskel said. He felt more than saw Dracula’s attention turn to him, sharp and heavy. 

“Are you trying to distract me from my vengeance?” Dracula asked, his voice sinister and low. 

“No,” Eskel said simply, tilting his head to more easily look up into those burning eyes. “I’m trying to comfort you, which would be better done in a familiar place. If there was anyone left alive who may have hurt him, I’d be all for you burning them to ashes. But whoever was hunting Geralt is long dead.”

Ciri shifted uneasily. It was enough movement that Dracula shifted his gaze to her again. “You know something.”

“I have suspicions. I don’t _know_ anything,” Ciri corrected. 

“This attack was far too organized, far too well planned to be a spur of the moment witch hunt. Those who carried it out are nothing but dust now, but those who ordered it must surely still be alive.” Dracula’s words were cold as ice and Eskel could feel the burning rage build up around them again. 

“It goes deeper than just that. There’s some hidden hand at work here. Triss and Yennefer are certain of it, and given what I know of the local politics, I agree with them.” Ciri sighed in frustration. “Someone is trying to stir up trouble for this kingdom, and right now there are at least three good candidates for who it might be.”

“Tell me.” Dracula all but growled out the order.

“After we find out who is responsible, I’d be thrilled to. Until then, all we have are vague ideas. I don’t even have a name to give you.” The field was so quiet that Eskel could hear the rapid beat of Ciri’s heart. She stood firm, though, eyes locked with Dracula’s and her chin up. When the silence stretched out a little too long, she added, “I promise you, when we find who is to blame for this, I’ll happily give you whatever information I have on them. But until then, rampant destruction will only give them a better chance to get away.”

Dissatisfaction and ugly, boiling anger burned across Eskel’s senses. But after a minute, Dracula nodded. 

“I will hold you to your word.” There was the sensation of something locking into place, and Eskel could see how Ciri turned pale in the dim light. “Go. Find Alucard in Castlevania City, and bring me back news of Geralt’s fate. We will await you in Kaer Morhen.”

Ciri nodded, and took a few steps back. After one last look at Eskel and Dracula, she turned her attention towards the purple orb. A faint cool breeze floated towards them as she summoned her power. Blue light trailed down her arms to wrap around the object in her hand, and motes of pure light energy drifted from her now glowing eyes. The power slowly built up, like an ever increasing pressure against his senses. 

Then in a flash, she was gone.

Dracula and Eskel stood together for a silent moment, both staring at the empty earth in front of them. 

“She’ll find them,” Eskel said finally, briefly squeezing Dracula tight. “Ciri’s a good girl. Smart and strong. She’ll be back soon. Triss and Yennefer will help out here, too. I’m sure of it.”

But all Dracula did was hum unhappily. 

After another moment, Dracula raised his hand, palm outward. He crooked his claws and twisted his hand around. As he moved, black energy grew within his palm, caged by his fingers. Little tendrils leaked out, floating down to the ground and sparking with red embers. The dark mass sputtered and swelled until it all but overflowed from around his wickedly long claws. Eskel could feel the heat radiating off of it, warm on his cheeks. With a flick of his wrist, the energy dissipated completely, leaving Dracula’s hand empty.

Eskel looked up at Dracula and raised an eyebrow. 

But before he could say anything, a spot of red energy burned into existence not more than a few feet away. It was jagged like a lightning bolt held in place, cutting through the air and opening wide. 

Out of that portal came a massive black horse, or horse-like creature, anyways. Its coat was thick and rough, and it had heavy feathering covered its hooves. A long, shaggy mane fell down, partially covering its smoldering red eyes. Inside its mouth were sharp teeth, each one half a finger length long and shining like polished pewter. As it stepped closer to them, Eskel noticed the feathering covered up heavy, sharpened claws. As if someone had filed each hoof into three wicked points. The beast was easily the size of any draft horse Eskel had ever seen, and for all its menacing features was darkly beautiful. 

It nuzzled up to Dracula’s hand, friendly as could be and smelling of sulfur. The moment Dracula touched it, brilliant red lines of energy coiled across its dark hide. If it was some kind of script, it was a language that Eskel had never seen before. 

“It is dangerous for me to take mortals through the paths I travel between worlds,” Dracula said bitterly, absently rubbing the beast’s forehead. “The void is a hungry thing, and it is eager to feast on any who would travel unguarded. Or any who bear wounds. It would not dare touch me, but you would be another story.”

Since so far Eskel was as of yet uninjured, he just frowned in confusion. 

“You made us a portal to get out of Novigrad,” he said, thinking back to their escape from the burnt remnants of Steingard’s lab.

“It was necessary then, and you had Alucard to guard you. For all my power, even I have limits.” The words were almost spiteful, and Eskel could feel Dracula’s anger seethe around him. 

Eskel nodded, still sort of confused but willing to let Dracula take the lead on this anyways. He’d learned by now that sometimes it was just easier to go with whatever the vampire had planned. 

Dracula grabbed hold of the demon’s mane and hauled himself up on its back. 

“This is my horse, Night. She’ll take us to Kaer Morhen.”

Eskel paused to look at Dracula, and then give the monster he was seated on a good once over. “Horse? That’s not a horse. I’ve seen houses smaller than that beast.” He squinted. “Also, did you name a mare, Night? So it’s Night the Mare?”

There was no change to the flat, unhappy expression on Dracula’s face, but Eskel thought he might have felt a flicker of amusement in the air. Something about how the energy that saturated the burnt earth under him felt. 

“Are you coming?” Dracula’s voice was cold and distant, and Night pawed at the ground, snorting. 

It was a good thing that Eskel was an extremely competent rider, because he was certain that this particular trip would be a taxing one. For lack of anything better, he grabbed ahold of Dracula’s arm and hauled himself up, setting himself behind Dracula on the horse’s bare back. 

Fuck, but it stank of demonic energy. The moment he was seated, the beast took off running, making Eskel scramble to hold on to Dracula’s coat. 

Faster and faster, Night ran, until scenery moved by at a dizzying pace. Woods, buildings, and fields all blurred together. They moved at such a pace that after a short time Eskel didn’t even bother to look up. He couldn’t. His eyes kept trying to focus on the things that were flying by, but there was never enough time to get more than the impression that for a brief instant something was there. Instead he buried his face into the back of Dracula’s coat and held on for dear life. Each jump felt like it might jar him from the seat, and even though the gait was smooth enough, he knew that losing his balance would be a death sentence.

As unsettling as the ride was, Eskel wasn’t completely surprised by it. Kaer Morhen was weeks journey away from southwest Temeria. Dracula would never waste so much time in travel, not when he had other means available. 

It was still a shock when Night gave one large leap, and then came to a stop. Her hooves, or claws rather, rung dully against the ground, and she pawed around a bit, tossing her head. 

Eskel risked a look up.

They were in the courtyard at Kaer Morhen. From the look of the moon, they’d only been riding for a matter of a few _hours_. He was viciously glad for how smooth Night’s gait was as he didn’t even want to imagine what could happen to him if he had fallen off her while she ran. 

A cold winter wind cut into Eskel’s armor, and he remembered that it was significantly fucking warmer where he had started this journey. He shivered, and flexed his fingers, grateful to let go of his deathgrip on Dracula’s coat. After a moment, he slid off of the beast’s back, taking a step away to leave Dracula room to dismount. 

Months of watching how Geralt interacted with Dracula’s servants had rubbed off on Eskel, because the first thing he did was give a shallow bow to the horse and say, “Thank you for the smooth ride, Night.”

She tossed her head, but then turned to sniff around at the partially snowy path. What she was looking for, Eskel wasn’t sure, because with teeth like that she sure as fuck wasn’t eating grass. Mice, maybe? It was hard to say.

Dracula dismounted, but he left a hand on Night’s flank. Slowly, he stroked over the smoldering red marks on her hide. “You did well,” he said softly.

Then he dissolved into swirling shadows and disappeared into the stonework of the keep.

Eskel watched him go, then turned to look at Night. The beast looked back at him and snorted. 

“...Do you want in the stable?” he asked, feeling mildly stupid. It was hard to tell how intelligent the beast was. Normal horses were fairly smart, but not _that_ smart. 

But she shook her head at him, her long mane falling all around her in shiny waves. Then she wandered over to investigate another part of the courtyard. 

She really was an exceptionally pretty horse, if not for the teeth. And claws.

Eskel didn’t make it five steps away towards the keep when he heard a thump and a squeal followed by suspicious crunching. For a moment he just stood there, weighing in his mind if he really wanted to see what happened. Curiosity won, and he turned back to look.

Back where the courtyard was mostly high grass and old shrubs covered with snow, Night was standing with her leg pressed firmly into the unmoving body of what looked like a rabbit. Her sharp claws punctured the white hide, spilling blood onto the fresh snow. She bent down, biting a big chunk of the rabbit and tearing it off by tossing her head up to gobble up her kill. Her ears swivelled back at him and she lifted her head to look at Eskel. Part of a rabbit leg was still hanging from her jaws. 

After a long moment of staring, she slowly bent down again, eyes still very firmly on Eskel, grabbed what was left of her kill, and trotted away with her head and tail high. She disappeared behind the nearest bit of wall high enough to hide her.

Eskel pinched the bridge of his nose and briefly wondered how this became his life. Then he shifted his pack on his back and headed in towards the kitchen. 

It was late winter, so he was sure Vesemir was still here somewhere. Eskel had left Kaer Morhen early this season, trying to get a start on some contracts in the south. Lambert had only spent half the winter with them, and Geralt had been in and out all year. So the only one Eskel really expected to be in the keep was Vesemir and a few of Dracula’s servants that seemed to have moved in. 

Sure enough, the kitchen fire was lit and the pantry stocked. It was late, though, and Vesemir was probably already in bed. 

Since no one was there, Eskel headed up to his room and dropped off his bag. After a moment of thought, he stripped out of his armor and swords too, and then dug around in one of his chests there for some sleeping pants. 

The longer Dracula was out of his sight, the more anxious Eskel got. He decided to skip building a fire. Chances were good he wouldn’t be spending much time in this room tonight anyways. He hesitated another moment, and then just grabbed the sleeping pants and headed to Geralt’s room. 

Once he was at the door, he paused to knock. No response. Somehow he got the feeling he should have expected that. He shrugged it off and entered anyways. It wasn’t like Dracula didn’t know he was there. 

Sure enough, Dracula stood in the center of the room staring at the bed, silent and unmoving. Eskel wasn’t even sure he was breathing. 

On the ride over, Eskel had considered his options for this encounter. Dracula was beyond upset. Unstable, even. So filled with pain and anger that he’d nearly burned a hole in another country. With that in mind, Eskel had come up with something like a plan.

It was probably a stupid idea. 

He was going to do it anyways.

Quickly and quietly, he divested himself of his clothes and changed into the sleeping pants. There was a basin of water and a stack of clean towels laying on one of the tables there. Eskel knew the succubi tended to keep Geralt’s room ready for habitation at any given time. There was even a nice fire roaring in the fireplace, and the covers of the massive bed along the far wall had been turned down. 

Eskel took a moment to clean himself up a bit, if only to get the smell of sulfur out of his nose. He could take a proper bath later if Dracula was feeling better. Unlikely, but possible. Maybe Ciri’s trip would be a fast one and they’d have good news by morning.

He could hope, anyways. 

As soon as he was moderately clean, Eskel silently padded over to the bed and slipped in, scooting back a bit to make room for Dracula. There was a vacant stare on Dracula’s face, but Eskel could still feel the barely contained upset and pain. 

“You coming?” Eskel asked, holding the blanket open.

It was safe to say that Eskel had a fairly odd relationship with Dracula, Alucard, and Geralt. After the kidnapping and subsequent torture the previous summer, Eskel had become sort of a fixture in their lives. He found that he craved the close and easy affection that Dracula and Alucard were swift to give, and where those two went, Geralt was sure to follow. They’d shared a bed and cuddled together more times than Eskel could count. 

Sex wasn’t something he was interested in with them, not really, but the closeness that they offered was another thing entirely. He still felt embarrassed about it at times, but not so much that he ever wanted to stop. Not that he had much choice in some instances. If Eskel was feeling bad enough, Dracula somehow knew and always managed to appear, ready to offer comfort whether Eskel wanted it or not. Alucard was almost as bad, wandering around stoned out of his mind and seeking a warm body to wrap around. 

So it shouldn’t have been a surprise to Dracula that Eskel was inviting him to come to bed. But all Eskel got was a cold stare.

After a moment, Eskel frowned. Then he sat up and thought for a moment. He closed his eyes and sighed. 

This was going to be awkward. 

He slid out of bed and went to stand right in Dracula’s space, his bare chest flush with Dracula’s. Then Eskel reached under the heavy, red coat and hugged him tight, shifting himself so that his neck was open to Dracula’s face. Partially because he thought that the show of vulnerability would set Dracula at ease, but also because he wanted his personal scent a little closer to Dracula’s nose. This whole room was infused with Alucard and Geralt’s scents, and while that might help Dracula in a little while, it wasn’t doing a damn thing for him now.

“Come to bed, please?” Eskel asked quietly. 

It took a few minutes longer, but eventually some of the tension left Dracula’s body. Slowly, Eskel ran his hands up Dracula’s chest and pushed the coat off of his shoulders. Then he reached down to try and find where to unlatch that ridiculously elaborate belt.

“What are you doing?” Dracula’s voice was rough and low.

“I’m getting you out of this armor so that we can cuddle,” Eskel replied evenly, finally getting the belt off. As soon as it hit the floor, it disappeared into a puff of shadow. A quick look around proved that the coat was gone too. 

Huh. So Dracula was willing to unsummon his armor, but not actually take it off himself. That was fine. Eskel knelt down and set to work unbuckling his greaves. As soon as the clasps came undone, the heavy metal vanished along with his boots, leaving Dracula standing in just his leather pants. He’d finally turned his attention to Eskel though, even if it was still on the cold side. 

“I’m not stripping you out of your pants,” Eskel said sourly. Again, there was the barest flicker of amusement in the air, before the crushing unhappiness settled in. He stood up and wrapped an arm around Dracula’s torso again, gently pulling him towards the bed. “Come on. It’s cold. Get under the covers with me.”

Dracula moved like his bones were made of steel and he had to unbend each and every one of them just to walk. It was progress, though, so Eskel would take it. 

Step by step, they made it to the bed, and then into it.

“How do you want me?” Eskel asked. When he was feeling bad, he often liked Dracula or Alucard over him, so he could settle his head into their neck and fill his nose up with the scent of their power. But he wasn’t sure what Dracula wanted right now.

It was a sure sign that Dracula was still massively upset, because he didn’t even rise to the bait of potential innuendo. He simply pulled Eskel close and rolled them so he was laying on top of Eskel, nearly covering him completely. That suited Eskel just fine, and worked into the other half of his absolutely stupid plan.

First, though, he just held Dracula close. He ran one hand up and down Dracula’s back, and with the other he tangled his fingers in Dracula’s hair, rubbing gently along the scalp there. 

It seemed to take ages for Dracula to loosen up, for his weight to really settle into Eskel’s body. Slowly, muscle by muscle, Dracula became a person made of warm flesh instead of what felt like hard stone. Eskel kept up the soothing motions, and let himself breathe in the scent of embers, blood, and skin. Odd as it was, this meant safety to Eskel, and he relaxed into it, too.

When Dracula turned his face into Eskel’s hair, he knew it was just about time for the next offer. 

“Do you want to feed from me?” Eskel asked quietly. It hadn’t happened often, but there had been a few times over the past months where Dracula had wanted Eskel’s blood. Those incidents were…interesting to say the least, but Eskel knew the desire was there. 

Dracula pulled back a little to look at Eskel in the eye. A frown tugged at his lips. “What?”

“Do you want to feed from me?” Eskel asked again. “I could go drink a couple of potions. Make the blood taste better.” It wouldn’t just taste better, though. It also acted like heavy alcohol, or a depressive mood enhancing drug. Basically, it would get Dracula stoned out of his mind. 

But all Dracula did was glare at him suspiciously. “Why would you offer that? You don’t normally care for the side effects of my bite.”

Which was true. Eskel just shrugged though. 

“You’re my friend. If you were human, I’d offer to get you falling down drunk. But since you’re not, this is what I can offer.”

Eskel could have mentioned all the times the Dracula held him after nightmares. Or the way he’d comforted Eskel during the whole Steingard incident. Or how Dracula had shown he cared in a thousand tiny ways that were as infuriating as they were considerate. But that made this whole thing seem like an exchange, and it wasn’t. The simple truth was that Dracula was a friend now, and Eskel was willing to help him however he could. 

He could see how Dracula thought the offer over, turned it around in his mind and looked for any sign of ulterior motives. There weren’t any, so Eskel stayed loose and calm. Ready for whatever Dracula decided to do. 

“No potions,” Dracula said eventually.

“Alright.” Eskel tilted his head to the side and waited. One of the things that Geralt had mentioned was that Dracula could taste emotion when he drank. It was with that in mind that Eskel focused on the fact that he wanted to bring comfort to his hurt friend. That he was worried, too, and that it was alright to be afraid and upset. They could be upset together.

Dracula stared at him for another moment, then leaned down and bit. 

It wasn’t the deep, gouging marks that Eskel knew Alucard sometimes got, but this bite wasn’t as gentle as Dracula had been with him in the past. It was sharp, quick, and deep, though the pain was still tempered by the full body pleasure that came with drinking.

He couldn’t help but arch up into it, holding Dracula tight to him. Eskel hoped the feeding would help, he really, really did. It wasn’t even really about all the collateral damage that came from Dracula’s rage, though he was sure that was why Ciri had come to him. It was because he could feel how much pain Dracula was in, and he wanted to do anything he could to ease it. 

A tiny moan escaped from Eskel’s mouth as bliss rolled over him in waves, timed to each suck against his neck. After only a few draws he felt Dracula shudder hard over him, and bite down harder, deeper. Pain mixed in with the pleasure again, and he could feel a little bit of blood trickle out of Dracula’s mouth. 

When a strangled little gasp of pain and pleasure worked its way out of him, Dracula drew back.

“No,” Eskel said, his normally rough voice sounding that much more wrecked. “Take what you need. I can take it.”

This time, Dracula didn’t hesitate. He leaned down and bit again, just harshly as the first time, drinking deeply of what Eskel offered. It was glorious and a little painful. But, fuck, Eskel was so hard. His cock strained against his pants, trapped between their bodies. It was a side effect of all the pleasure, and as much as his body screamed for some friction and attention, both Eskel and Dracula knew that wasn’t what Eskel wanted. So the lust was ignored, which was both frustration incarnate and an utter relief. 

Throughout it all, Eskel urged Dracula on, and tried to give Dracula the mental equivalent of a hug. 

Dracula let out a frustrated growl and bit Eskel a third time, marking him down the bend of his neck.

_That’s right,_ Eskel thought to himself. _Let it out. Give it to me. Give me your rage and your pain. You’re not alone._

He felt more than saw Dracula dig one hand into the bed next to him, and rake with his claws. Great, awful ripping sounds snuck in around the pounding of Eskel’s own heart in his ears, and something wet and hot trailed onto his cheek. The other hand stayed on Eskel’s neck, keeping him held tight to Dracula’s fangs. 

The fourth bite hurt more, but Dracula was trembling above him, and gripping him so tightly that Eskel knew there would be bruises. Even the pleasure from the feeding was a savage thing, driving out all thought aside from wanting more. He knew he had to be making little noises, but for the life of him he couldn’t pay any attention to it. All he knew was that Dracula was getting what he needed, and that was good.

When those wickedly sharp fangs finally pulled out of Eskel’s body, the two of them sat heaving together, both breathing as if they’d run there from Temeria rather than ridden. Dracula was furnace-hot on top of him, and his face stayed buried into Eskel’s neck. More slick, wet heat trickled down onto Eskel’s neck, and he suddenly realized that Dracula was crying. By this point, the hand that wasn’t on Eskel’s body had clawed several inches into the bulk of the bed. Fluff and fiber floated around them in the air and tickled at Eskel’s nose. 

Eskel’s whole body was on fire with the sensual pleasure he’d been flooded with, but he kept himself still as best he could. It would pass. He would not rut up into Dracula’s hip, no matter how good an idea it sounded. Instead, he just held Dracula tightly through whatever he was feeling and tried to be there for him.

They stayed that way for a long time. Slowly, the coiling heat in Eskel’s groin faded away, and the ache in his neck turned into a dull throb. After a time, Dracula’s shivers slowed down as well, and he all but crushed Eskel under the weight of his body. 

Eskel slowly ran his fingers back and forth across Dracula’s neck. Small, soothing little movements. Enough to remind Dracula that Eskel was there, present in their embrace. That he wasn’t just enduring it; he wanted to be there.

The heat that radiated off of Dracula’s body was wonderful, and Eskel didn’t even mind that the scent of his own blood had mixed into the smell of Dracula’s power. It might have just been the blood loss or the warmth, but Eskel felt sleepy and relaxed. Content, even. Even his ever present worry over Geralt was a distant thing under the weight of Dracula on top of him.

“I don’t want him to die,” Dracula whispered softly, face still buried in the marks on Eskel’s neck. 

Eskel rubbed his cheek against Dracula’s head and squeezed him tight. “Geralt is a stubborn bastard, and Alucard is brilliant. If there’s any chance at all, they’ll find a way to exploit it.”

The pressure around him grew for a moment as Dracula held him crushingly close. It was enough that Eskel struggled to breathe for a moment. Before it could turn into a problem, Dracula’s grip eased, though it didn’t release entirely.

With careful little licks, Dracula started cleaning the wounds on Eskel’s throat. This was something that had happened previous times when Dracula fed from him. He was usually a little neater with his bites, though. The marks on Eskel’s neck must have been impressive as hell. From how Dracula licked over the length of his neck, blood had probably smeared all over. The slow, wet drag across his skin was as relaxing as the hands wrapped around him, and Eskel melted into it.

When Dracula’s tongue finally worked up to lave over one of the raw wounds, stinging and sharp, Eskel couldn’t stop the little noise that escaped him. Dracula started to move away, but Eskel just held him down, held him close. He knew damn well that he couldn’t hold Dracula if the vampire really decided to get away. But Dracula still paused, he still let Eskel keep him close.

“S’fine,” Eskel grumbled. “Stings a little, but it’s fine. Kinda feels good. Go ahead.”

“I don’t want to drain you,” Dracula sighed. “If I keep it up I will want to drink from you again.” He sounded calmer, a lot more reasonable than before, the edge of rage now banked in his voice.

Eskel shrugged with his unwounded shoulder. “If you feel the need, just let me drink a Swallow. I’ll heal fast.” 

He ran his fingers through Dracula’s hair and closed his eyes.

“I could feel Geralt, just for a heartbeat,” Dracula whispered.

“Mmmm. They’re working on it. Alucard and whatever he’s got going on there. Geralt won’t go easy,” Eskel said quietly. “This wouldn’t even be the first time he’s cheated death. There’s still hope.”

“I know,” he sighed, but didn’t sound convinced. “Geralt is a bright soul, though. People like him often…go outside of my reach…when they die. For all my power, some souls are forever out of my reach.”

That made Eskel blink in surprise. Dracula was talking about some kind of heaven. He was the King of Hell, after all; the opposite of that would be what was out of reach. 

“You realize that Geralt would fight to get to you,” Eskel said finally. “No power could keep him away. He’d wreck them just to get back to you.”

“Souls…are not given a choice,” Dracula said, shifting away from Eskel and turning to lay on his back. 

Unwilling to let the intimacy of their embrace go, Eskel followed him over and sprawled across his chest. His neck ached, but the sensation wasn’t really enough to bother him. It did make him settle so he leaned a little heavier on his unhurt side, leaving the bite marks a little more visible. Maybe it would bring Dracula a little extra comfort, too, to see the marks. He certainly was a possessive bastard.

“It hasn’t happened yet. No need to borrow trouble.”

“You witchers are unusual enough, you might as well be right anyways,” Dracula said softly.

Eskel snorted in amusement. “We bend and break rules everywhere we go. Not sure why death would be any different.”

He settled farther down, scooching so that his nose was buried in Dracula’s neck, right where the scent of dark power and burning could fill up his nose and head. His eyes drifted closed again, and he couldn’t help but breathe out a little pleased sigh. 

Then Dracula put a hand on his head and slowly began trailing his fingers through Eskel’s hair. That was bliss as far as Eskel was concerned, and he sighed again happily. His brain still felt a little fuzzy from the bites, but as long as Dracula kept up the gentle petting, he didn’t care in the slightest.

It didn’t take long for him drift off to sleep after that, a warm body under him, the scent of embers and blood in his nose, and a careful hand in his hair.

\---


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note from Quarra: I am a bit ahead on editing, so this chapter came a little early.

The great nothingness, the void in between worlds, encompassed Ciri for a moment. It felt like falling. Or maybe like being pulled apart and then put back together. Sometimes it was as easy as walking through a door to another room.

This time, it was like racing through a wraith-filled hallway. The darkness around her was hungry, sometimes angry, and it felt like a small eternity between her own world and this new one.

When she finally stumbled onto hard ground again, she was in a strange circular room. The walls were grey stone, and enraptured figures were carved into the panels. Behind the carvings, through gaps in the stone, she could see large wheels and gears, though they were still and silent. The room itself was empty, but for a single lectern that stood in front of a wooden circle on the floor. It reeked of darkness, of Dracula’s magic. The whole room did to a certain extent but the device in the center most of all.

It reminded Ciri of his castle, actually. Both because of the decoration style and the feel of demonic energy. 

She debated for a moment about investigating the lectern. A single step towards it was enough to convince her not to. The black energy around it was oppressive, and as she moved towards it, she could sense the hostility. 

This world was already turning out to be a hell of a place. 

Ciri sighed, and turned towards the doors. 

As she approached, the great wheels behind the statues turned and ground against each other, pushing the massive doors slowly open. Bizarrely, this emptied into a strangely austere hallway; almost as if someone had built a brand new building on top of an older one. The walls looked to be made of some kind of grey brick, and there were lights set into the ceiling. The lights weren’t fire, or lanterns, or even magic, but they glowed with an even white light.

A sinking suspicion came over her. 

Ciri had known for quite a while that she was able to travel between worlds. While she still had a great deal to learn about magic in general, she was exceptionally powerful with portals in particular. Her mentor, Avallac’h, had trained her to travel between realms; in those travels she’d seen many strange worlds. 

Some were very much like her own. But she’d been to one where humanity roamed unchecked by the mystical world, and as a result had advanced to unimaginable levels of technological advancement. They hadn’t stayed in that world for very long; both she and Avallac’h were ill suited to blending in there. That brief visit was long enough that she recognized a similar type of craftsmanship in the lights here in this world. 

If her hunch was right, then she’d soon be spending most of her time attempting to blend in. Who knew what the locals might think of magic. She couldn’t risk the possibility of starting a panic or witch hunt if she cast magic anywhere near people, but she had to find Alucard and Geralt as quickly as possible. 

It seemed no one was around in the hallway.

Since she was alone, a quick locator spell was the first order of business. She raised her hands and focused her energy. 

Ciri was hesitant to draw any from the natural world around her. The hallway didn’t crawl with Dracula’s unique brand of darkness like the strange circular room did, but it was still a dark place energetically speaking. Far darker than she normally worked with. Not only that, but if this city did have spellcasters, they might be watching for disturbances in their energy matrices. Better to use her own reserves, and cast carefully.

Luckily, locator spells were both cheap and easy in terms of power consumption and skill. 

She spread the spell’s energy out, reaching, seeking Alucard. Ciri hated to think that her father might already be dead, but if he was it would be no use to try and locate him. The spark that defined his essence would already be gone. Alucard, though, she knew would be alive. 

But the spell rebounded. The power snapped back on her like a taut bowstring, vibrating with thwarted intent. There were wards around the city, there had to be. Possibly built into the very walls. 

Then she remembered Dracula’s castle, and how the whole place had spawned hundreds upon hundreds of wards, layer after layer as it grew. If this city was anything like that, she should be happy that all her locator spell did was rebound harmlessly. A good ward might have sent a nasty attack along with it.

She sighed. 

Alright. If that option was out, perhaps a general scrying. Or maybe something more like dowsing. She wouldn’t actually be sending any energy out, just increasing her own reception to it. It helped that at this point she was fairly familiar with Alucard and his power. They’d discussed their differing schools of spellcasting at length a time or two, complete with demonstrations. She knew the taste, the scent of his power. Now all she had to do was focus her magic to sense it, even at a very great distance. 

Happily, this spell was also quite a simple one; a temporary internal modification. Like boosting her natural sight or sense of smell, almost. 

When that spell actually worked with no rebounds, Ciri pumped her fist into the air in triumph and a fierce grin spread across her face. Already she could feel a tugging, like a magnetic alignment almost, leading her in the right direction. All she had to do was get to open ground and follow it. And if she happened to find a city map or a few signs along the way to help her navigate the roads, all to the better. 

She pulled her heavy grey cloak around her shoulders, covering up the hilt of her sword, and pulled the hood down over her face. Might as well at least try to be subtle. 

Now to get out of the hallway. 

A simple spell took care of the lock on the door.

She emerged into a wall of noise and light. It was evening, or maybe even nighttime judging by the color of the small patches of sky she could see through the achingly high buildings around her. The moon was huge up in the sky but there was so much ambient light and activity her instincts were confused. Not a single star could be seen, though perhaps that was just due to her limited view.

There were lights _everywhere_. 

There were lights perched on high lanterns set at even intervals along the circular plaza she’s walked into. The posts stretched out near the walkway she stood at and down the street. 

There were people walking alongside the streets dressed in clothes she’d never seen before. Styles ranged from sleek and form fitting to colorful and garish. Some people were covered from head to foot, while others exposed an indecent amount of flesh. Nobody wore any kind of armor and for that reason alone she was glad she had her cloak up. There were also strange, metal carriages without horses that carried people to and fro, as well as colorful, blinking lights set into buildings around her. Some of the lights were clearly used for the building itself and those inside, while others framed banners with names that meant nothing to her.

She had emerged from an unlit alley, remaining largely unseen and ignored as she watched people walk by. The metal carriages that passed by made a great deal of noise, and people everywhere were talking. Some to each other, and some to little boxes held to their ears; perhaps something like a spelled mirror. It was hard for her to tell. 

The street here seemed to be a large circle with more roads branching out like spokes on a wheel. Tall buildings ran up along the outside of the ring, each one cold and grey and as high as the barely visible sky. In the center of the street-circle was a massive statue of a woman holding a sword pointed out in front of her. The lines were simple and clean, showing little emotion. Even though it had to have been at least two stories tall, the buildings on the outer circle of the street still dwarfed it.

The smell hit her next, or rather the lack of it. Granted, she could smell the strange, nose tingling chemicals and a million foreign scents, but the ever present scent of sewers was absent. In her homeworld, more often than not, waste was just thrown out onto the street to slowly make its way out of the city. That was why stepping stones were such an important thing. Here there was no scent and no stepping stones. As she watched the oddly smooth cobblestones of the sidewalks and the smooth black surface of the roads, she could see the moisture of a recent rain still there, but nothing that would indicate where the waste produced by such a big city would go.

Not far from where Ciri stood, away from the bustle of people, she noticed something that looked like a small shrine built into the wall of the building she’d just exited from. It was surrounded by lit candles, and looked to be made of beautifully carved wood. The whole thing barely reached as high as her waist. Whoever built it made it to look like a tiny house-like structure. It had little steps leading up to it, all of which were covered by candles, side walls, and a tiny peaked roof built on top. The front of the shrine was open to the street.

Inside there were more candles burning, casting flickering golden light on the scroll hung above them. It looked to be suspended there by magic, but as far as Ciri could see it was really just a trick of the candle light. The little wooden pegs that held it up were stained black, but the scroll itself looked nearly golden in the glow of the candles. Even more curious was that there wasn’t any sense of the divine around the little shrine at all.

Curious and hoping for some information, she stepped closer and pulled the scroll out. A couple of quick glances around her proved that no one was really watching. After a moment or two, when there were no cries of outrage, she carefully unfurled the scroll.

The language it was written in was one she recognized, very similar to the common speech in the Northern Kingdoms. The words were formed a bit oddly, but she was relieved to see that she could still understand it. The scroll described how this place, Victory Plaza, was founded by the Brotherhood of Light to celebrate their victory over Dracula, the wretched Lord of Darkness. It was meant to commemorate the _half a million_ men who lost their lives in that final battle.

Ciri blinked. 

_Well, fuck._

That did not bode well for the rest of her trip here. Granted, the Dracula she knew very much was the Prince of Darkness, King of Hell, God of Chaos. But in the time that she knew him, he didn’t seem to be actively malevolent. Jaded, yes, and cynical as could be. But he seemed to hold no interest in doing anything but tending to what was directly in his keeping.

She thought of the barren wasteland that was once the southwestern border of Temeria, and shuddered. Eskel had managed to calm Dracula down enough to halt his slowly grinding rampage before it hit any real human settlement, but what if he hadn’t? What if her father really was dead, and the true perpetrators of his murder still extant?

Cautious of drawing attention to herself, she replaced the scroll, setting it back down gently into its holder in the shrine. No one seemed to notice or care that she’d picked it up to read it, so that was a bonus. 

She wrapped her cloak a little more tightly around her body, and found a crowd of people to walk with, slowly moving toward that internal tug. 

As she walked, she marveled at the buildings. Some were tall and sleek, with massive bronze statues adorning platforms in front of them. Others had the same sweeping, morbid-looking architecture that Dracula’s castle did, all spikes, lurid sculpture, and haunted-looking windows. 

Hanging off buildings all around were more of the lights. All colors, shapes, and sizes. Most seemed to be just advertisement. Buy now! Only 29.95! Hot Food Here!

The crowd she was walking with were headed towards one such adorned building, with its massive glowing lights above ancient-looking glass and iron doors. 

When she read the sign, she stumbled to a stop. 

_Now Playing:_  
Call Me By Your Name  
Won’t You Be My Neighbor  
Chain Massacre no.12 

_Midnight Showing:  
Alucard the Vampire (1982)_

_The iconic movie that ruled the charts for years!_

She stood there, jaw dropped. It couldn’t have been this easy to find him, could it have been? This didn’t look like a place for a wounded man. 

Alucard told them he was a merchant, not an actor, and she could recognize a theater when she looked at one, no matter how strange the world. She moved closer to the building get a better look and was rewarded by finding a poster in a frame up on the outer wall. 

In atrociously large, red font the poster screamed _Alucard the Vampire_. Right below the title was a picture of a broody, dark haired man with his hair tossed around by an invisible wind. He was staring forward with a furrowed brow and there was a huge cross in his hand that trailed a metal chain. What, exactly, that was supposed to be, Ciri had no idea. Between his red, pouty lips she could see a pair of blindingly white and definitely impractical fangs poking out. 

Smaller pictures were lined under him. One was of an oddly shaped box; like a very elongated hexagon, large enough to fit a grown man. It was barely cracked open and a well manicured hand was slipping out of it. Given that, it was probably a coffin. Why it wasn’t a plain rectangle, she wasn’t sure, but perhaps there was some cultural significance. 

The small image next to that was of a fainting woman, barely clad in a thin, white, gauzy shift. Her throat was bared to the viewer, and two obvious puncture marks lay there, slowly dripping blood.

By the time she looked at the third picture, Ciri was already hard pressed not to giggle. This was obviously some kind of romantic vampire love story. That last picture cinched it in her mind. It showed the actor playing Alucard bending over another buxom, mostly naked woman and biting her neck while she clung to him in rapture.

That was when she lost it. She laughed so hard that she had to lean on the wall next to the advertisement, clutching her pained side.

Alucard the Vampire. 

Holy gods, she was never going to let Alucard live this one down.

“You shouldn’t laugh like that missy.” A passing man had paused to scold her. He looked to be on the young side of middle aged, and was dressed in more conservative, layered clothes. “Sure, the movie is a bit cheesy but that was how they made the movies in the eighties. It doesn’t change the fact that it incorporates so much of our city’s history! It’s a good modern representation of Alucard’s legend, even if it is a little on the romantic side. And still a very popular erotic thriller, if you like that kind of thing.” He gave her a stern look. “You should see it first before you laugh.”

Ciri sobered, and straightened up. 

“I’m terribly sorry for…for laughing.” She was not sorry. Not even a little. The words _erotic thriller_ still bounced around her head, but learning from sorceresses had taught her how to lie as well as how to cast spells. More importantly in this situation, they taught her how to be diplomatic. “I’m not from around here. What’s the legend you’re talking about?”

He gave her a strange look. 

“You must really be from far away. The story of Alucard is huge in Castlevania City. He was supposedly a vampire knight who fought against Dracula’s monstrous creatures. He always showed up in times of terrible need, fighting off demons no human could withstand, and then disappeared. Who knows if it’s really true, but there are still devoted followings, and not just the folks who like this kind of thing.” He waved at the poster on the wall. “There are shrines to his memory, many built by the people he saved over the years. The Church doesn’t really condone the shrines, but they don’t really forbid them either.” The man shrugged. “If you head over to the arts district, you’ll find the library. They’ll be able to get you a good accounting. You might run into one of the shrines, too. Castlevania City has shrines everywhere. We have to, in such a dark place.”

Now that sounded more like the Alucard she knew. Ciri nodded along with the man as he explained. 

“Thank you so much,” she said. “I really am quite new here, and I appreciate the recommendation.” Before the man could walk off, she asked, “Since you’ve been kind enough to explain, I was wondering if you’d be able to point me in the direction of a hospital? I’m in town trying to reach a sick friend, but I’m afraid I’ve gotten quite lost.”

She gave the man a winning smile, with just a touch of hesitance and hopefulness.

“That’s unfortunate luck,” the man said. He scratched his nose and thought for a moment. “Well, there are a couple major ones. You don’t happen to know the name?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t remember it. I’m well and truly useless with this kind of thing.” She slumped, trying to look a little dejected. 

“I guess you could try the nearest one, and they can direct you to other hospitals if you won’t find your friend there.”

“That seems like a really good idea.” Ciri nodded eagerly.

“There’s Castlevania General on Wygol street. It’s one of the newer buildings, so it’s got the modern look. None of the statues on the outside, you know. That’s the one with the busiest ER, too, I think. Mr. Belmont funded the remodel after the Outbreak destroyed it, so it’s got top of the line facilities.” He looked around, and then pointed up the street. “Over there is the local metro station. You see the sign with a big M on it? That’s it. It’s got stops all around the city, and maps. Castlevania General should be listed on it. Actually, if you need to you can ask the folks who work there for better directions. The hospital has its own stop I think, but I don’t remember what line it’s on.”

“Thank you so much!” Ciri gushed, smiling with sincere and profound relief. 

“Good luck,” the man said with a wave, and headed back down the street. 

For a moment, Ciri had to smile. Even though the man had caught her laughing at what was apparently a treasured cultural icon, he’d still offered her directions to the hospital. It was a kindness unlooked for, and unusual in such a dark place. Perhaps that’s why humans thrived here with so much demonic energy around. They’d banded together as a community.

The station that the man pointed her towards was away from that inner tug that she was following, but the chance to look at a map was too good to pass up. She made her way up the block to the sign the man indicated. 

All around her, crowds of people swirled, on their way to work or play or wherever. The sheer noise of it was impressive. Between the din of hundreds of people walking and talking, and the strange rumbles and honks from the metal carriages, this was the loudest city Ciri had ever been in. The crush of people was impressive as well, especially the closer she got to this ‘Metro’ thing the man spoke of. 

The first thing she saw when she started down the sunken stairs was a large green sign blinking at her from the surrounding walls “Free transport from 8 pm - 5 am.” Beside that, there was a little glowing sign displaying the numbers 8:12 pm. Obviously, it was a measure of time, and again her luck held out. Ciri was confident that she could con her way into a free ride, but it was a relief to know that she wouldn’t have to.

She could hear people talking as they passed, and their steps grew faster and more confident as they headed inside. The crowd was funneled into a series of waist high gates; they were all held open right now, but chances were good that they would come down once fees were being charged again. A clever way to make sure people pay to get in. There was a guard post off to the side of the gates, but the man there was relaxed, just watching the crowd with casual boredom. 

“Thank god for the free metro,” a dark complected woman passing Ciri said, clearly talking to the blond to her side. They’d all been shoved up together by the crowd attempting to get inside. “I would have never managed to get back home from work before the babysitter leaves if I had to walk. And a daily train fee just to get back and forth to work, ug. Can you imagine how much that would cost?”

“I hear you,” the blond said with a shake of her head. “Just the idea of needing to walk after dark around here would make me start looking for work elsewhere, and just leave the city. Over a year since the Outbreak, and still there are reports of Infected being spotted.”

By now, they’d passed through the little gates, but Ciri was curious about what they were talking about. She ducked her head a bit farther down and kept close enough to hear the rest of the conversation. With the crowd, it wasn’t even that hard.

“Yeah,” the first woman said with a bit of a sigh. “I guess it’s going to take years to completely clean out the city anyway. The security is better nowadays, so that’s something. Most of the main buildings are rebuilt, but I don’t know if they’ll ever clean up all the rubble off of the side streets.”

“Right? You know how I told you my uncle has a bookstore?” The blond leaned in as she spoke, like she had some juicy gossip, and her companion responded by walking closer. Ciri couldn’t help but lean in a bit, too.

“Yeah?”

“Well, apparently sometime during the Outbreak a wall or five got torn down and he said that there’s a passage leading straight to the mental hospital right in the back of his shop now. _Apparently_ it got missed during the renovation.”

Now the first woman recoiled in horror. “Oh my god! No?! That’s terrifying!”

“I know, right? Can you imagine? They say that’s where Dracula buried all the dead children he ate.”

Both women visibly shivered. 

“I cannot believe he hasn’t cemented that right up. Or made his landlord do it. I would have.” The first woman shook her head and waved a finger, emphasising the _no_.

“Ugg, he says it costs money.” 

Ciri could practically hear the blond roll her eyes. Quite frankly, she was in agreement. The last thing she would want in her shop was a direct line to a mass grave. That was just asking for ghouls to invade.

“Yeah. People lost so much during the Outbreak, can see him not having anything to spare. Still. The old mental hospital? Isn’t that place cursed? Besides, who even came up with the idea to build the hospital on the graveyard of all those children anyway? They should have made a statue or a place of remembrance there instead.”

“God, this city is weird,” the blond muttered, and both women shook their heads.

They turned right and walked out of sight while Ciri stopped in place, surprised and queasy with how certain the women were of Dracula eating children. They spoke as if it was a fact, and one supported by undeniable evidence. She tried to connect the threatening, angry, but still polite and largely neutral man to the monster they were describing and found that she couldn’t. Even knowing that Dracula had utterly laid waste to that patch of forest, that was still just an act of abrupt rage, a short lapse of control in the face of overwhelming upset and stress.

The crowd was starting to bump into her, so while she was thinking, she turned the corner and got her first look at what this ‘Metro’ thing really was. 

Large metal carriages, settled on rails, rocketed in and out of the station. There were several lines of rails, too, with platforms in between them, each connected by arching walkways. The noise of it was overwhelming, and the air smelled of electricity and burning oil. Once the carriages stopped, people swelled on and off, and then the doors would close and the contraption would continue on its way.

If it hadn’t been for the fact that Ciri was trying very hard to blend in, she would have stopped dead in her tracks just to stare. As it was, she still had to drift off to the side wall to have some time to take it all in. The scope of the place was mind boggling. How many people even lived in this city? Tens of thousands? Hundreds of thousands?

For a moment she was overcome with worry. Through all this mess, all these people, she still had to find her father and Alucard. 

Ciri closed her eyes and focused on the spell still working on her, leading her to where she needed to go. The alignment hadn’t moved at all; it was still dragging her along, like a compass needle. 

Whatever was going on here, she could find them. More was at stake than just finding out the latest news. Dracula was waiting, and waiting impatiently at that, she was sure. 

_Thank the Gods for Eskel,_ she thought. 

Her adopted uncle had been cagey as hell about whatever was going on between him, Dracula, Alucard, and Geralt. But _something_ had happened during the whole Novigrad incident. Since then he’d gained Dracula’s mark on his chest, and the faint flavor of demonic energy about him. Not only that, but the few times she’d visited them all at Kaer Morhen, there was a certain lack of personal space between them all. 

Of course she’d teased the hell out of him for it, but much like Geralt, Eskel didn’t seem unhappy with his situation. As far as she could tell, Dracula treated both Geralt and Eskel extremely well, though the vampire did have a tendency to infuriate. He seemed to take quiet amusement in watching people get flustered around him. 

She’d gambled that Eskel would be able to calm Dracula down enough to be reasoned with, and it had paid off. But there was no telling how long that would last. Or if it would last at all if she found out that Geralt had passed on. 

Ciri gritted her teeth and prayed her father wasn’t dead, for more than just his sake or her own.

A quick look around the platform showed that placed up and down the walkway at strategic points were maps. She beelined for one of them and stood there taking a good long look. 

From what she could see, she was on the eastern side of the city. Victory Plaza. This Metro thing looked like it had pathways all throughout the city; they criss crossed in the center as well as circled around it in a large loop. The map even had a helpful _You Are Here_ dot on it, thank the gods. Based on that, plus the magic tugging in her chest, she chose the line most likely to lead her towards wherever Alucard was. It ran right through the heart of the city and clear across to the west side, in the district marked Downtown. 

That projection lined right up with the dot on the map that said Castlevania General.

Ciri blessed whatever kind spirit was looking out for her, and headed towards what she hoped was the right carriage. 

As she walked along, she passed by any number of little shops dug into the walls. The stands sold anything from books to food to drinks. There was even a clothing shop far down at the end of the way. 

What caught her eye, though, was what appeared to be an image projection. Several of them, actually. 

One of the shops had a line of boxes, and each one had a glowing, moving image inside. Like an illusion, or maybe the projection from a megascope. Two of the three boxes showed what looked like some kind of sports game; large, well padded men sliding around on ice and bashing into each other. Possibly chasing something, though it was hard to see. Maybe it was a survival of the fittest kind of thing? Maybe only the ones who managed to leave the ring alive or undamaged were the winners?

One of the boxes held two people talking directly towards the viewers. This was the only box that had sound coming out of it, too. It was so amazing, so lifelike, that Ciri found herself mesmerized. 

“...The latest in a string of Infected sightings near the downtown district. Local security forces were quick to contain the threat, and there were no additional outbreaks or deaths. Three people were critically injured in the attack, but were immediately taken to Castlevania General for quarantine and treatment.” 

The image that followed that was of some kind of massive, chitinous monster twice the size of a man. Whatever it looked like before it was subdued was beyond recognition, because what was being shown was clearly a half destroyed corpse. Poisonous green ichor spread all around its body as men sprayed fire onto it, burning it to a crisp. What was more interesting was that the fire didn't seem to be a spell. It looked like it was being sprayed out of a hose, as if they’d somehow managed to find a way to hold fire in a box and then let it out as needed. 

The image switched back to the two people talking. This time, the other one started to speak.

“Local elections are starting to heat up. The vote is still more than three months away, but several potential candidates are to appear in a debate later this week. Topics listed range from city wide budgeting, Outbreak control, Social Services, and Church involvement in government action. The debate is a public event and will be held at the City Amphitheater. Seating is first come, first serve, and the second half of the debate will be open to public questions. The deadline to register to vote is May 5th.” 

The speakers switched again, and started talking about the weather for the rest of the week. Ciri had never seen weather divination like this before, but it was very impressive looking. 

Ciri wasn’t certain what exactly the whole election thing was all about, but this had to be some kind of news. Perhaps like a town crier. Or royal proclamations. 

She watched on.

“...And in our last story today, Trevor Belmont, CEO of Bioquimek Corporation was reported heading into Castlevania General Hospital sometime yesterday.” 

The image that popped up was Alucard. Sort of. He wasn’t wearing his armor or sword, and his eyes didn’t look right, but it was definitely him. It was clearly some kind of posed picture. The image of him was staring just off center, his face mildly neutral, and every strand of hair perfectly braided back into place. Whatever clothes he was wearing, Ciri had to assume were something standard for this world. 

“Trevor Belmont is the man hailed as the modern-day savior of this City. A year and half ago, during the worst of the Outbreak, this reclusive billionaire and heir to the famous Belmont bloodline, came forward to help Castlevania City rebuild. He took control of Bioquimek from former CEO Raisa Volkova - suspected to be behind the start of the Outbreak. And in the weeks following, he staged an unprecedented series of buyouts, staging hostile takeovers of Bernhard Industries as well as Zobek Industries after the former President and CEO mysteriously disappeared during the Outbreak. Since then, Belmont has spent billions on city restoration. He also retooled Bernhard Industries manufacturing plants to produce weapons capable of destroying the infected and distributed them to city’s security forces. For all his involvement in city-wide restoration and damage control, he is very rarely seen outside of his HQ.

“Reports so far are sketchy about the reason for Belmont’s visit to Castlevania General. Unconfirmed sources claim Mr. Belmont called in an unplanned helicopter sometime after noon and travelled to Castlevania General with extreme haste. The hospital itself is keeping a lid on any information leaking out and a large number of Mr. Belmont’s security forces have been spotted on hospital grounds.

“No official statement has yet been made by his publicist. Our hopes and prayers are with Mr. Belmont during this time.”

Ciri watched the image be replaced by a series of moving images. 

The first was of Alucard on some kind of podium, his hair again braided back tightly, and dressed in dark, austere clothes. His eyes looked human, brown irises and white sclera, and his clothes looked expensive and extremely well tailored in comparison to other people in the images. 

The second moving image was of him walking down a plushly carpeted corridor surrounded by gaggle of darkly clothed people. Different clothes, the same tight braid, so obviously the image was from a different time. 

A third moving image was of Alucard getting out of one of those metal carriages she’s seen on the streets. Only his seemed bigger, longer, than anything she’d seen so far and somehow more intimidating with its shiny black surfaces and black tinted windows. 

Everywhere he went there were flashes of light and people looking at him the same way Ciri saw people looking at kings---with greed, terror and admiration in their eyes. 

He did say he owned a trading company, but he didn’t say the people here treated him like some kind of royalty and an almost mystical savior. And the name. He clearly did not go by his vampire name, Alucard, but by Trevor Belmont instead. She wondered if the name Alucard was common in this world, or if it was his existence that started the whole Alucard legend in the first place. That seemed the most reasonable, given what she knew of Alucard’s personality. 

It was also a little strange to realize, none of those people knew Alucard was a vampire. They firmly believed that Trevol Belmont was as human as they were.

Ciri stared at the images in mild astonishment long after the people talking had moved on to other stories. She remembered what her father said, that Alucard and Dracula had a long, complicated history. That was never more apparent to her than it was right now. She wondered if Belmont was a name that Alucard had adopted, or if that was his old human name. Geralt had said he was more than a thousand years old; maybe Alucard simply always used the same family name when he had to interact with humans? 

Whatever he had going on here, he was at the hospital. He had to be there with Geralt. 

She started looking around the platform again for which metal carriage she was supposed to get on. The whole system seemed infernally complicated, with color-coded carriages and twisting routes. Finally, she thought she found the right one. A second long look at a map showed her that it would take her to a different part of the city, and then she’d have to switch carriages again.

Ciri gritted her teeth and took one last look around the platform before stepping into the carriage. 

Almost there. 

Seats lined the inside walls of the carriage, and bars hung down overhead within easy reach. Ciri followed along with the crowds as she saw people randomly sitting or holding on to the bars as needed. The reason why they were there was immediately made clear, because the carriage lurched forward with enough force to make her stagger on her feet. 

Keeping an eye on the other travelers around her was completely disregarded as soon as the carriage left the platform. All she could do was stare out the window. She thought they were underground. After all, she’d gone down stairs to get to the platform. But it looked like Castlevania City was built in elaborate terraces, and in between walls of rock she could see deep caverns and ancient buildings. She found herself pressing against the window to see better. 

It looked like Dracula’s castle---almost, anyways. There were statues everywhere. Some were twisted and broken while others were still bright and shining; they lined the walls of buildings and stood guardian over deep empty doorways that led back into who knows where. Dotted along the way were more of those tiny, candle lit shrines, each one with its own illuminated scroll set in its center.

Curiosity ate at her. What did they say? What bit of history did each shrine commemorate, and how much of the truth was really there? 

Soon enough the carriage started to ramp up, slowly going above the main street level and twisting through the massive buildings above. It was breathtaking, how vast the city looked. Each building was lit up with a million tiny lights, and she could see other high-arching carriage rails far in the distance. 

Even more breathtaking was the fact that wherever she looked, wherever the Metro took her, she saw the edges of Dracula’s castle in the shape of the buildings, in the arches of the bridges, and in the twisting lines of the streets. The city was _huge_, bigger than any she had ever been in before, but for all its size it didn’t manage to outgrow the castle at all.

She was so enthralled with watching the city fly by that she very nearly missed her first stop. 

After several minutes of hustling around, checking the map, and noting her inner alignment with Alucard’s power, Ciri made her way onto the next carriage. 

This one took her off in a different angle, farther west this time. The buildings looked older here, and she could see there were whole chunks of Dracula’s castle that were still intact. 

As she rode, she could feel the residual energy of the place. Some of it was almost like Dracula’s fire and blood flavored power, but there were other threads here, too. There were so many pools of dark energy, though they were fractured, broken things. Melded throughout the city were powerful veins of lighter energy. 

She wondered how much of that was due to Alucard’s influence. He often claimed he wasn’t much of a mage; his abilities were mostly combat based. But it was natural for someone’s home to take on their energy signature. It was part of how the various worlds, the very fabric of reality, worked. Despite his claims of having limited magical ability, Alucard’s reach was great. He held a great deal of power in general, and the lay of the land would reflect that.

Those living here were no doubt influenced by the corrupting power that had infested this area for so long, but people could change it back as well, through their actions and choices. Light wasn’t an inherently good power, nor was darkness inherently evil. She saw enough in her life to know, to believe with every fiber of her being, that it was what you did with the power that mattered. She’d seen light power used to murder hundreds of people and she’d seen dark power cradle a wounded person as gently as a mother would a child. Dark opened one up to possibilities, to the weaknesses of their own hearts. What people chose to do with that, that was a true measure of a person.

Alucard’s power may have stemmed from Dracula’s darkness, but she had no doubt that he wielded it in such a way that it brought only hope and safety. 

The tugging against her senses grew stronger as they moved, and when the disembodied voice of the carriage called out ‘Castlevania General’, she was more than ready to get off. 

This station was much busier than the one she’d originally started on. There were people waiting for the carriage, but also plenty of other people disembarking like her. They poured out in a living, pulsating mass that flowed up the stairs and out of the station.

Ciri followed the swirl of people, many of which were moving directly towards the building her magic told her Alucard was in. She kept with the loose group as they headed into some type of formal entranceway. A large desk stood in the middle of the vast room there, and the sign above it said ‘Information’. 

Alucard was above her somewhere, she knew that for certain. A quick look at the desk showed that there were maps posted in various spots on it. Several of the people behind the desk were engaged in various activities; some answering questions while others seemed to be doing some kind of clerical work. 

She tried to unobtrusively study a small map of what had to be the building she was in. It was quieter in here, quieter than the Metro platforms anyways, and the air was artificially cold. The tang of disinfectant filled the air, along with the unmistakable scent of sickness. 

“Can I help you find something?” a woman behind the counter asked, turning to look up at Ciri from where she was seated. 

“I know the room I’m supposed to go to, but I’m not sure where the stairs are.” Ciri shrugged a little apologetically, trying to come off as both innocent and lost.

The woman looked at her for a moment before pointing left. 

“Go ‘til the end of the corridor, the stairs are behind metal doors. They are marked.”

Ciri thanked her and beat a hasty retreat. It wasn’t like she was being hunted here or anything, but she couldn’t help but feel exposed as an outsider. 

Twenty minutes later and she was still walking up stairs. It was a damn good thing that she was in shape, because of course Alucard was on the Gods be damned _top floor_. She resolved to tease him about it later. Just because he could turn into bats didn’t mean that he needed to roost like them. 

Finally she felt the tug inside her even out, indicating she had reached the floor she needed. 

She pushed the heavy metal door open only to come face to face with a mountain of a man. His hair was cut so short he looked nearly bald, and there was a kind of white cord coming out of his ear. His neck was thick with muscle and he wore the same dark grey clothes and a white undershirt that she saw a lot of men favor in this city. 

He was markedly different from the people she passed on the streets in some ways. Not only was he a damn sight bigger, but he was a warrior, too. She could tell he had serious training by the way he stood, his legs slightly spread and his center of gravity low enough that she knew he wouldn’t be easily bowled over. 

What was more interesting was the second man, who stood outside of their reach. He was dressed in nearly identical clothes, had a very similar haircut, and was watching them with dark, careful eyes. One of his hands was raised, with one finger pressed against his ear. The same kind of white cord that the first man wore came out of his ear, under his finger, only to disappear under his collar.

She gave a purely internal sigh. 

Because of course Alucard had guards. She’d see on the image projections how well regarded he was here, and since he was trying to blend in as a human, it would be expected that he would need them. The irony of it was sort of hilarious. A group of human fighters trying to protect an incredibly powerful, ancient vampire.

Deeper in the corridor, she could see even more guards stationed at even intervals. All of them were turning to pay attention to her, and all of them were obviously on high alert.

_Fuck. Might as well try the easy way first. It might work._

She smiled and said, “Please excuse me, I’m here to see my father. He’s in one of the rooms here.”

“The whole floor is reserved, no access allowed.” The mountain sized man she was facing was the one who answered. He didn’t move a single inch from blocking her way. Actually, he even shifted to block even more of her view than he did before. “I will have to ask you to leave, miss.”

It was second nature for her to shift her own body weight to match, preparing for whatever attack would inevitably be coming towards her. 

“I really need to see Trevor Belmont. He has my father here, and it is critical that I check in on him.” Ciri stayed polite, but firm. 

She could see the man’s pale blue eyes narrow slightly. He’d caught her shift and understood it for what it was. Damn, she should have expected Alucard’s guards would be well trained.

“There are no scheduled guests, therefore I can not allow you access.” The man was still remarkably polite, which was not something she was used to from thugs. 

“And yet, there is at least one here under Trevor Belmont’s care. A man named Geralt. I will see him.”

Worse come to worst, she would teleport by them. She didn’t want to, but more was at stake here than just the lives of a few guards. Or even just her own life. She didn’t see any blades on them, but she had no doubt they were armed. 

Several more of them began to steadily walk down the hall towards her. Maybe if she gathered enough attention in this corner she could portal by them and run to wherever Alucard was, with no bloodshed at all.

“Please, just tell Trevor Belmont I am here to see my father. My name is Ciri. He’ll know who I am,” she insisted. 

“Miss, if you show us some identification we can check with Mr. Belmont’s aide if you are who you claim to be.” 

The second guard who was keeping his distance was now walking up. One of his hands was raised towards her in a standard peace gesture, but the other was hovering strangely close to the edge of his jacket. She hazarded a guess that was where his weapon was.

Ciri tilted her head at the mountain man she’d been talking to, mildly confused. Identification? “Like a passcode? Or an item of recognition?”

The guards looked at each other, clearly baffled by her answer. Something she’d said made them look as if she was either very stupid or lying, both options unfavorable. Chances were good that this identification was something standard for this world, and she’d just completely missed the implication of the word. Which was just great.

“Tell the aide that I know who is with Trevor Belmont, and I know what he wears around his neck, and I know the color of his eyes. Belmont will recognize me on sight.” Ciri tried to stay calm and firm, but she couldn’t help but keep herself ready for an attack. She might be able to Quen herself before they reached their weapons, but she couldn’t be sure. A short teleport away would be her best bet.

“Miss,” the first guard said, “you have to understand that Mr. Belmont is a very influential man. You are the tenth person in the last hour to try and get in to see him. If we called the aide of such a busy man every time somebody asked for him, he would do nothing but stand here all day.”

“His father is a very influential man, too, and significantly more wrathful,” she said testily, and then sighed in frustration. 

She could see that remark sailing right over their heads. They were clearly loyal only to Alucard and were not going to pay attention to any other person, even his father. Also, something in their lack of reaction made her think they hadn’t met Dracula.

“Is that a threat?” The second guard asked, still very politely.

“No,” she said again, suddenly incredibly weary. “Just the sad truth. I need to see my father. He’s here and he’s hurt. Please. If Trevor Belmont doesn’t recognize me, I will leave without a word or act against anyone here.”

“What’s his name?” a new voice asked unexpectedly. She was so focussed on the guards and the immediate threat of them that she had completely missed anyone else approaching.

Ciri turned to look at the man, and said formally, “My father’s name is Geralt of Rivia. He’s known as the White Wolf, Witcher of the Wolf School, and Gwynbleidd. I am Ciri, his adopted daughter, and Child of Surprise. He is hurt very badly, and I must see him. Please.”

The young, thin man had an unflinchingly polite expression on his face. The wire rimmed glasses on his face reflected the light when he shifted, making it hard to read his eyes. His clothes were of a similar cut to the guards, but significantly finer in quality. The fabrics looked softer, and each item had obviously been tailored specifically to him. He dressed in lighter colors too; pale grey pants and coat with a light blue shirt under it, and some kind of decorative fabric hanging down his front.

“What does he wear around his neck?” the thin man asked, not letting her know if he recognized the name or not.

“A medallion shaped like a wolf’s head,” she answered, trying to remember that the word witcher probably wouldn’t mean anything to the people watching her. “He also has white hair, like me, and cat eyes.” She paused. “Gold with vertical pupils,” she added just in case. She hasn’t seen any cats on this world yet.

The thin man, definitely younger than any of the guards, turned to the first guard who was still blocking her way with his bulk.

“Matt, let her though.”

“Just as soon as she gives up her weapons,” the big man rumbled, never taking his eyes from her for even a second.

She raised an eyebrow at him. She’d spent a lot of damn money on her sword, and wasn’t keen to lose it. Especially not to a random set of humans. 

“Weaponry in the presence of Mr. Belmont is non negotiable,” the thin man said. “If you truly want to speak to him, you will disarm yourself. Otherwise you will not be allowed a step closer.”

Ciri desperately wanted to tell this man how little her sword and daggers would do against a being like Alucard, but she understood where he was coming from. 

Slow and steady, she threw back her cloak to show off the various belts lined with daggers and the heavy sword at her back. 

“Where shall I put them?” she asked with a grin, baring her teeth a little. 

“Keith,” the large man, Matt, called out and another guard popped up, this time coming from the direction of the staircase. “You’ll be responsible for the weaponry.”

“Yes, sir.” The man came closer and looked at her expectantly.

Ciri began unbuckling the belts that held them to her body, wrapping them carefully around the scabbards of the blades. When she handed them over, she paused to stare at the man she was giving them to. “I will have these back, or I will find you.”

“Of course.” He looked as unfazed as all the other ones. Where did Alucard even dig those guys up? They strangely reminded her of witchers, actually. “Do you want a receipt per blade or one for the total?”

She sighed again and rubbed her eyes, muttering to herself, “Geralt, why…” How did he always get into these situations? Then she shook her head, and looked at him again. “No need. Please take me to Trevor Belmont and my father.”

She pulled out all the blades and bombs that she had on her and passed them one by one to the guard waiting patiently beside her.

“Am I done?” she asked, trying to conceal her irritation. It was possible that she hadn’t succeeded as well as she would have liked, but oh well. It had already been a damn long day.

“Almost, miss,” Matt said, as politely as ever. “I just need to pat you down for hidden weapons and then we’ll be done.”

Because of course. 

“So be it.” She raised her arms and hoped they’d keep to polite areas. “Try to take advantage and I’ll break your fingers.”

By this point, Ciri was well and truly tired. She’d portaled several times that day, once through worlds, and to an unfamiliar world as well. And then hours of journey after that, too. She was so close that she could taste Alucard in the damn air. Regardless of how many weapons they took from her, those were replaceable, and she could still use her magic if need be.

At least he was quick, for all that he was very thorough, too. His hands patted both the outside and the inside of her sleeves and her sides. He looked under the back of her collar and ran his hands over her belt twice. He didn't try to cop a feel, which was a nice surprise; that only spoke of how well trained a guard he was. She did raise her eyebrows at him as she felt him stuff his fingers into the edge of her boot and run the circumference of her calf. Probably checking to see that she didn't have any hidden blades there.

“I would ask you to give up the wide belt. It’s heavy enough to serve as a weapon,” Matt said, getting up. “Other than that we are almost done.”

She unbuckled it and thanked whatever spirit had guided her to choose pants that fit. Then she handed her belt to Keith, already waiting with a nice armful of weaponry.

Ciri looked to Matt with raised eyebrows.

“Thank you for your cooperation.” Matt inclined his head. “I hope you enjoy your stay,” he added with the same even, polite tone that made her want to bare her teeth at him like an animal.

“The belt was a test,” she realized.

That pulled the first, honest reaction out of him. It was just a flicker, there and gone, but he inclined his head to her.

“I wanted to see your body language when faced with an unexpected and somewhat unreasonable demand,” he said.

“And what did you see?” she asked, curious.

“You are very irritated, but not unreasonably so. That excludes drugs and other mood altering substances as your control remained steady in face of a situation you couldn’t have foreseen. If you were a paparazzi, you would have balked at the pat down, but you managed to stand still for that. The request to give up a clothing item usually makes the untrained ones break their role. Your micro expressions also fit the emotions you portrayed. If you had remained too calm, didn’t react to the request with impatience and frustration, or your micro expressions denied your outward expressions, I would have shot you.”

The explanation actually made her smile. “If my father lives, you should talk to him. You two will get along very well, I think. Never, ever play dice or cards with him.”

That pulled a tiny smirk from the big man’s face. It was a good face, she decided. Not too pretty, but attractive enough. Intelligence shone in his eyes, which was always a trait she liked.

“I like a challenge,” Matt said.

Ciri took a moment to look him up and down, admiring the warrior’s  
body he had, then she smiled wolfishly. “So do I.” 

“Suddenly, I can see the resemblance,” the thin man sighed.

That brightened Ciri up significantly. “You’ve seen him.”

“Mr. Belmont’s guest, against all odds, is alive and on his way to recovery.”

That news alone made Ciri want to drop to her knees and weep with joy. She absolutely did sag in place and close her eyes. “Oh thank the Gods. You truly have no idea how relieved I am to hear that, and not just for his or my sake.”

“Follow me,” the thin man said, and motioned for her to join him.

Ciri took a step forward, but then hesitated. She turned back to Keith. 

“If you value your fingers, you won’t meddle with the bombs.” She helpfully pointed towards the stack of rounded objects in his hands. 

“You brought bombs to a hospital,” Matt said flatly.

“You didn’t?” she asked, one eyebrow raised. “It’s not like they’re incendiary bombs. They’re part of my standard kit.” 

“I prefer the precise approach myself. But now I kind of want to know what kind of bombs they are.” Matt narrowed his eyes at her a little.

She smirked wickedly at him and winked. “If there’s time later we can share recipes.” Then she turned to the thin man. “Shall we?”

\--

Given what little John knew of Geralt, if he had to pick out a set of characteristics that would embody Geralt’s daughter, Ciri would match all of them. 

Physically they didn’t look alike, aside from hair color. It was hard to say what Geralt might have looked like under all the damage he’d taken anyways, but Ciri moved like she was the most dangerous person in the room; all power and grace. The scar across her cheek and the small mountain of edged weapons Keith relieved her of was also a big hint. 

John had just laid down to get the rest Belmont had sent him to when security started feeding them updates on a potential situation in the hall. A single woman, possibly heavily armed, was asking for Trevor Belmont and his guest. 

It was the _guest_ part that had made John take notice. So far none of the obvious slew of reporters, investigators, and opportunists had mentioned a guest. That information was so far on lock down that John knew not even a whisper of it had gotten out. 

But this woman, Ciri, from what she said it was obvious she knew who Geralt was. From her exasperation, it was also pretty clear that she was familiar with his general attitude or antics. 

That really didn’t bode well for John in the future, especially if he was going to be tasked with keeping Geralt in bed. 

As much as he hated to interrupt Mr. Belmont, this seemed like a situation he’d want to know about. A quick nod to Matt had him following along behind them towards the room. Just in case this wasn’t what it seemed. 

“When we go in there, please try to be quiet. Geralt just got out of surgery and is resting,” John mentioned to her as they walked. 

“Good Gods,” she muttered back, then shook her head. “Did you have to tie him to the bed?”

Yeah. She knew Geralt. 

“Once the pain medication hit he was out of commission anyway. It’s a miracle he is alive. All his bluster won’t change the fact that he’s unable to do anything but sleep.” John watched Ciri out of the corner of his eye, gauging her reaction. 

“I’m vaguely terrified by how much painkiller you would have had to use for it to work.” She didn’t look terrified. She looked worried as hell, though she was keeping her pace to match his.

“Considering the extent of his injuries, if he tried to get up from the bed he would rupture his wounds and probably bleed out on the spot. Doctors had to cut him open to fix him. It’s just bits of metal and some thread keeping him together. After the trouble Mr. Belmont went to, to keep this man alive, it would be best if you did not encourage any ill advised movement on his part,” John said testily. 

The woman seemed made of attitude, just like her father, and people like that often risked their lives doing stupid things just to prove they could. John would have to make sure she understood the gravity of the situation or he would use one of the code words given to him by security. Thankfully, besides the standard plea for help there were some codewords that requested tranquilizers to be used instead of deadly force. Matt was known for his quiet and minimal-damage way of handling problems. He’d be able to handle anything Ciri could throw at him.

John was pretty sure, anyways.

“Gods. No. I wouldn’t.” She looked at him earnestly. “You have no idea how sick I am of seeing him halfway dead. I’m more concerned about him trying to get up on his own. Al--- Trevor Belmont would stop him, I’m sure.”

John looked sideways at her. He’d already seen her try to charm the guards with wide eyes and guileless expression on the security feed the team had streamed to his phone. He wasn’t going to be taken in so easily, but she did sound honest and looked appropriately appalled.

“Mr. Belmont has been on his feet for many hours now, making sure your father is well taken care of.”

To that, she simply smiled, small and smug. “He would move heaven and earth to keep my father alive.”

“He did. We are not sure what the fallout will be of this. I hope it will be something we will be able to contain without too much damage to Mr. Belmont’s reputation or his business.”

“You and me both, friend. I love my father dearly, but he is a Gods be damned reckless idiot at times. And this _particular_ time is just…” She rolled her eyes in frustration, and then set her jaw in determination. “It is what it is. Trevor Belmont has done what he can. The rest of us will cope.”

Where did this woman even come from? 

The way she spoke was bizarre. John already took note of the various aliases that she said Geralt went by, and resolved to look them up the moment he had time on his phone. 

The fact that she swore to gods _plural_ instead of one God was exceptionally odd. People in Castlevania City may or may not attend Church regularly, but all of them knew that it was servants of God that saved them all from the powers of darkness centuries ago. 

He was sort of dying to ask her more questions, just to see how much she would spill, but they were at the door to Belmont’s room.

John knocked firmly on the closed door, half hoping that Belmont would be asleep in a chair and thus unavailable for company. 

“Come in,” came Belmont’s voice from inside the room.

_Damn._

He opened the door and led the way inside.

The moment Ciri caught sight of the hospital bed, she made an awful, strangled noise, and dashed towards the bedside. Matt moved to follow her, but stopped when it became obvious she wasn’t touching Geralt at all.

She simply stood over him, holding out her arms like she wanted to grab him, but didn’t quite dare to.

“Oh Gods. Oh Gods, Father.”

“Ciri?” Belmont stood next to the bed on the other side from where Ciri was standing, one hand still on Geralt’s chest. 

“I had to find you,” she said, not taking her eyes away from the sleeping man. “Your father is…_upset_.”

Belmont just blinked at her. “Upset. Yes. I imagine he is. But _how_ upset?”

There was a terrible long silence where Ciri clearly stood there trying to choose her words. 

“It’s...not as bad as it could be. _Will be_ if Geralt doesn’t---” She swallowed hard and looked down at the bed again. “If Father doesn’t make it.”

“He will, provided he’s not an idiot in the next few days.” 

The absolute lack of formality, the familiarity that girl was displaying, shocked John. Belmont wasn’t a person that ever invited this kind of approach. It also rankled a little, for the same reason.

“That’s good.” She nodded in relief. “That’s good. I already dragged him back from death once. I don’t want to try again. Either way, I need to take word back to your father.” Now she looked back to Belmont and raised an eyebrow at him. “He’s in Kaer Morhen with Eskel, waiting.”

John saw the way Belmont’s lips opened in shock.

“You fed Eskel to him?”

She flailed a little in place. “I mean, it seemed like a good idea at the time? What else was I going to do? Your father was, is, furious. Out of anyone else there, Eskel was the only one who even had a chance of stopping the rampage. It worked, though. Amazingly.”

“I’m not sure what’s more shocking. That you were ruthless enough to use Eskel as distraction or that my Father actually stopped long enough to hear out his therapy witcher.”

“Pfft,” Ciri said, rolling her eyes and snickering. “Therapy witcher. I’m never going to let Eskel live that down.” She rubbed a hand over her eyes. “And it was less a distraction and more the only option. It’s not ruthlessness when you look at the possible results. Besides, all I had to do was get us there. The moment we saw your father, Eskel just walked up and hugged him. And it worked.” She shook her head, clearly baffled.

Throughout all of this, John couldn’t help but watch in stunned silence. He’d learned more about Belmont’s personal life in the last half hour than he had in the last year of working by his side. And from the sounds of it, Belmont’s family life was a mess. John started to have terrible flashbacks to reality TV and the ridiculous nonsense that other rich and powerful families got up to.

“Will you take a message to him?” Belmont asked, sounding unbelievably abashed.

“Of course. He’s kind of waiting on news from me anyways. And it took me a long time to get to you. This city is…” She looked around the room, gazing at nothing in particular, almost as if she were looking right through the walls. “It’s something else.”

“It’s nothing compared to the castle itself,” Belmont said, looking down at the sleeping man. “I still can’t believe people decided to live here, perceived victory or not.”

“So the shrines I saw. They had truth in them?” Her voice was a hushed whisper, half curious and half horror-filled. 

“People here believe they defeated Dracula,” Belmont said in a tone of finality. 

John couldn’t help the gasp he made when the realisation of what his boss was saying finally hit. Trevor Belmont was the last descendant of the Belmont family. If there was anybody who had a right to make statements like that, it was him. But the enormity of that statement still boggled the mind.

People _believed_ they defeated Dracula. 

Meaning that they actually didn’t. Somewhere out there, Dracula was still alive and well, his power unchecked.

Belmont suddenly seemed to remember that they weren’t alone in the room. 

“I’m sorry, John,” he said, sounding honestly apologetic. He looked John right in the eye. “Dracula was never destroyed by the Brotherhood. He defeated them, killed them all to a man, and then decided to go for a long sleep right here, in the ruins of his castle.”

There were no words. John just stared, mouth open. 

“He was awakened during the Outbreak,” Belmont continued in an even, calm tone. As if he was discussing the weather and not the fact the greatest evil to ever walk this Earth was alive and awake again, and had been for over a year now!

“You’re a Belmont,” John whispered. “Your family fought against him and his forces for forever. Is that why you’re here?”

“Dracula is immortal,” Belmont said. “It took the Belmonts a long time to understand that.”

“He’s not…” 

John glanced around the room quickly, suddenly noting every shadow in the room and wondering what evil might be hidden there. From the stunned look on Matt’s face, John wasn’t the only one massively disturbed by this turn of events. Curiously, Ciri didn’t look surprised at all. Which, honestly, only furthered his suspicions about whatever it was that she and her father got up to in their free time. 

“He wasn't the cause of the Outbreak. He helped stop it, as well as much worse things that would have happened if not for his intervention. He doesn’t seem to have much interest in this world anymore.”

To that, John had absolutely no idea what to say. His whole world view had just been shaken up. Dracula had been destroyed. That was just history! But everything his boss was saying now flew in the face of that. Not only that Dracula was alive, somewhere, but that he helped contain the Outbreak, too?

But of anyone, a Belmont would know the truth. 

“What happens if he decides to take an interest again?” Matt asked.

Ciri glanced to Belmont, and then, strangely, to Geralt’s sleeping form. “Honestly?” she said, “it seems unlikely.”

The delivery of that statement was so bland, so matter of fact, that John had to blink again. Whatever was going on here, whatever Belmont knew about Dracula, Ciri was in on it.

Holy shit, no wonder they all carried swords. This was like a clip out of a bad movie. 

“Do not spend time worrying about things you can’t change,” Belmont said. “Dracula is not interested in causing trouble, his rage was banked by his long sleep. There’s no need to worry.”

John was still pretty fucking worried. The bomb that Belmont just dropped was incredibly disturbing. But now was absolutely not the time to have a panic attack over it. He had a job to do, and Belmont truly didn’t seem concerned about the situation himself. 

Again, if anyone would know, a Belmont would. 

So John resolved to press that issue into the back of his mind, beef up security, see if there was any truth to the whole legend of the combat cross, and then take a weekend after all this was over to get falling down drunk. From the look on Matt’s face, he was thinking the same damn things.

John straightened his tie and blinked a few times, trying to compose himself. “I’ll take your word for it, Mr. Belmont.“

“What message should I deliver?” Ciri asked, turning to Belmont.

“That he can come here now.”

“Oh thank the Gods. I’ll go now. I just need my blades.” She side-eyed Matt for a moment, her lips quirking into a smile. “Although, I could just go right this second, leave from this room, and have a reason to come back.” Then she looked back to Belmont. “Should I leave from right here, or go somewhere private? I don’t want to disturb anything.”

That statement didn’t make a damn bit of sense at all. If she left the room, wouldn’t she be _leaving_ anyways? John puzzled through the wording and was coming up with nothing. Maybe it was some kind of code. 

“Get your blades. If Geralt knew I sent you out without your weapons, he’d throw a fit. Any of the other rooms on this floor are private, should you need a moment to compose yourself, but I would appreciate discretion with your departure. You are welcome to return any time you wish.” Belmont looked almost amused for a moment, and glanced to Matt. “All of my personnel will get appropriate amounts of time off, should you wish to share…trade secrets after their shifts are done.”

“How generous of you,” Ciri said with a smirk. Belmont just looked at her knowingly, his lips tugging into a smile. She held her hand out again over Geralt’s sleeping form, and her face twisted bitterly. “I can’t even touch him. He’s a mess.”

“He will heal,” Belmont said quietly. “The next few days will be stressful and difficult, but he’ll recover.”

“Should I ask for a Swallow from Eskel for him?”

And again, John was lost. Swallow? Like the bird? Or the action?

But Belmont just shook his head. “He’s too weak. The arrows he was hit with were poisoned, and he overdosed on his own potions to keep from bleeding out on the way to us. On top of that, we’re already feeding him impressive amounts of narcotics to keep him pain-free. It’ll be days before he’s able to process the toxicity. Days for his organs to even be whole again.” The worry in Belmont’s face eased for a moment and turned into something more akin to exasperation. “And after that, I think I will use every advantage I have to keep him to his rest.”

“Poison, huh.” Her gaze turned calculating. “Got any of those arrows left?”

“John?” Belmont asked.

“Ah, yes. Over here.” John went over to where he’d stashed the bags that the surgeon dropped off, and grabbed the correct bag. Despite the obvious familiarity that Ciri shared with Belmont, he was still hesitant to give them over to her until after she was out of the room. Even broken and bloody, they were still _poison tipped arrows_. 

From the look on her face, Ciri noticed the hesitation and was amused by it. 

“I have to compliment you on your staff, Trevor Belmont,” she said, her eyes twinkling. 

“Thank you.” Belmont inclined his head. “I am very pleased with them. You may simply call me Trevor, though.”

The crinkles around her eyes deepened. “Trevor it is, then.”

She took a few steps around the bed, closer to where John was standing, yes, but also closer to where Belmont was. For the life of him, John just wasn’t used to people being so familiar with his normally aloof boss. Right here in this room were the only people in the world that John knew were given leave to call Belmont by his first name.

“I’ll give one to Vesemir,” Ciri said. “He knows more about poison than I do. He’ll be able to tell us if it’s a specialty thing.”

All humor and ease fled Belmont instantly, and the air almost grew colder for a moment. He straightened his spine and his eyes seemed to shine in the dim light of the room. John brushed it off, but god, Belmont looked scary as hell for a minute there.

“You think the ones who ordered this are still alive,” Belmont said quietly, his voice as cold as a winter night.

Ciri just looked at him with pursed lips. “It’s a longer story than I have time to tell here. I’ll come back to explain. But, in short…_Maybe_.”

“Does Father know?”

“Oh yeah. He knows.” She visibly shivered and went a touch pale. 

That in and of itself was disturbing as hell. Here was a woman who didn’t even blink at the threat of Dracula being alive and well, someone who looked ready to bulldoze past Belmont’s hand picked, highly trained security team, but Trevor Belmont’s father made her blanch. 

And this guy was going to be coming here.

Again, John wished for a cup of coffee. Instead, he messaged one of his support staff, ordering a variety of drinks and snacks. If Belmont was expected guests, might as well get started on the refreshments now. Something cold or room temperature to keep people satisfied until they wanted breakfast proper. He hoped there would be some time to sleep in between now and then though. 

Belmont just shook his head. “I have more reason to be grateful to Eskel than I expected.” He sighed very, very softly. “Travel safely, Ciri. The paths here are dangerous ones.”

“I always do.” She looked at him for a moment, then dashed in, quick as a whip, and crushed him into a hug.

Matt had already taken three steps towards them by the time she made contact, but Belmont held his hand up at him, stopping Matt from interfering. 

“Thank you for saving my father,” Ciri said softly. Her face was buried in Belmont’s suit, so John couldn’t tell what her expression was, but her voice was rough and thick. “Thank you so much.”

His expression softened. But before he could say anything she darted away, grabbed the bag of arrows from John, and fled the room. 

“Keith, she’s headed out,” Matt muttered into his ear piece. “Give her back her gear, and put her on the list. She’s allowed back whenever.” He looked at Belmont and raised an eyebrow. “Should I escort her out?” 

But Belmont shook his head and waved at a couple of chairs on his side of the room. “Stay. I need to speak with you two. Briefly, though. I am very tired.” 

He looked it, too. John had never seen his boss so visibly exhausted. He moved like every joint hurt. Slowly and cautiously, Belmont eased himself down into a chair next to Geralt’s bed, making sure to keep a hand on Geralt’s chest. When Geralt’s hand slid off of Belmont’s wrist during the readjustment, Belmont gave a tiny, unhappy sigh. With careful movements, he placed Geralt’s hand back where it was, resting it loosely there on his wrist. 

Matt and John shared a brief look, but both of them moved to take the offered seats. Once they were settled, Belmont looked at them solemnly. 

“I am always grateful that I somehow managed to find such competent and intelligent employees,” Belmont started. “Trust me when I say that I know this is redundant, but it needs to be said again, if only for my own peace of mind. Nothing either of you see or hear in this room can be even whispered of outside of it.” 

He gave them both a long, serious look. For a moment it seemed like he was looking right through John’s eyes and staring into his soul. As intense as it was, this was the kind of gravitas that he’d come to expect from his boss. Seeing the slightly relaxed, slightly more human behavior around Geralt and Ciri was the real shock.

John was well aware that he, and everyone else who worked closely with Belmont, had gone through one of the most thorough vetting processes there was. That was expected, given Belmont’s power and wealth. 

But it had suddenly become apparent to him that there was far more at stake than one man’s wealth, or even the companies he controlled or the city he was bent on saving. He thought of the widespread panic that would cover the city if it was known that a member of the Belmont family admitted that Dracula was alive. Even if Belmont had no idea what he was talking about, which was so damn unlikely that it was nearly unthinkable, just the _rumor_ of it would be profoundly damaging. 

The sheer amount of trust that Belmont had just shown both John and Matt was staggering. 

John shared another look with Matt, and then said, “We wouldn’t. Not for anything.”

Matt just nodded.

“Thank you,” Belmont said gravely. “There is a lot you may see or overhear in the next few days. I’ll try to answer questions as I can, but I may be busy.” He closed his eyes and pressed a finger to his forehead, rubbing the space right between his eyes. 

“My Father will be here soon. He travels extremely quickly when he wants or needs to. He is---” Belmont stopped to think for a moment, clearly digging for the right words. “He is a man of strong passions, and is both protective and possessive of what is his. There is very little he actually cares about, but once he gives his affection it is absolute. The kind of power I can wield is paltry in comparison to his.”

That was hard to swallow. As the hospital director had said earlier, Trevor Belmont had more money than God. He didn’t control specific countries as other world leaders did, but given his wealth, holdings, and name, he was as influential as the most powerful among them. 

Belmont let his gaze fall to Geralt’s sleeping form, and a little tug of unhappiness pulled at his mouth. 

“I’m sorry sir, but…I wasn’t aware of any other Belmonts owning significant industry in the country. Or out of it,” John said hesitantly, struggling to get all those contradictory facts in order in his head.

“You won’t find his name on any ledgers or company letterheads,” Belmont said with a sigh. “But when he decides to make things happen, they _do_ and paltry things like borders don’t matter.”

Now that was truly terrifying. John swallowed. Suddenly he realized where Trevor Belmont had gotten his relentless nature. 

“Will he have his own security?” Matt asked, ever the practical man.

Belmont shook his head, making the loose hair fly everywhere. It was naturally messy, sticking up every which way, and it gave him a much more wild look than John ever expected of him.

“To be honest, Father would probably welcome being attacked. Anything to take the edge off of his bad mood. I’d be worried about the collateral damage, though.” Belmont stared off into the distance, pensive. “But that’s rather unlikely. He’s generally able to discourage opposition by demeanor alone.”

_Discourage opposition by demeanor alone._

John looked to Matt and was oddly comforted to see the experienced bodyguard, a former special ops soldier, giving him the same kind of shocked side eye John was sure was on his face.

“Do you have any pictures?” Matt asked. “I could distribute it to my people, make sure he doesnt get stopped like Ciri did.”

“There are no pictures, nor do I think there ever will be. In the unlikely occurrence that you will see him enter here, you’ll know him as my Father. He has…presence.”

John looked at Matt again.

“No pictures? In this day and age?”

To that, Belmont just smirked. “Tell me, were there pictures of me prior to last year? Are there any yet to be found dating from before that time?”

The silence stretched for a moment as both John and Matt realized that neither one of them had ever seen such a thing. Not a single childhood photo. No pictures of high school or college gatherings. Not even a drivers license one. 

“It is our way to remain the the shadows,” Belmont said. “Our bloodline is too well known, too intertwined with the historical events that everyone knows about. It is best to leave the Belmont heritage as dead as we can make it.”

Belmont looked to Matt.

“My Father is an extremely proficient fighter familiar with many weapons, and also very used to command. It is better to show respect and keep distance when dealing with him. His temper is easily sparked though, so be sure to have your men prepared for that.”

_Temper_, John thought and suddenly remembered the huge scar bisecting his boss’ chest. A cold chill shot down his back and he swallowed heavily.

He almost hesitated to ask, but in the end he felt he had to. No matter how scary Belmont’s father was being talked up as, ultimately John worked for Trevor. Not his father. There were enough things that were being talked around here that John was starting to feel worried. “Are you going to be alright here with him?”

“He does as he pleases.” Belmont shrugged. “But I’m not the enemy here.”

That was not the resounding, _my father would never harm me!_ that John was hoping for. Which was…just…great. 

What Matt was thinking, John couldn’t tell. His face was as blank as ever. 

“Does he look like you?” Matt asked, looking pointedly to the white hair on Geralt’s head. “Coloring?”

For some strange reason that made Belmont chuckle.

“He has dark hair, though he is paler than I am, and his eyes are of very unusual color. Much as mine are, actually. I wear contacts. I very much doubt my Father would bother with them though. That is pretty much the only physical similarity between us.”

John blinked, looking at Belmont’s completely ordinary brown eyes. His face must have expressed his confusion clearly enough because Belmont sighed.

“Ah, I have been dying to take the contacts out for hours anyway.” He reached for his pocket and pulled out a tiny jar, unscrewed the lid, and placed it on the little table near the left wall. Then he reached for his eyes and pulled at his eyelids, carefully working to get something out. After a moment he lowered his hands; the two lenses perched on his fingers were much larger than a simple contact should be. He dropped them into the jar, and rubbed his eyes. For a moment there he looked tired, the rigid line of his spine softening and shoulders drooping into an exhausted slump. 

Then he straightened, his posture military perfect again, and turned to look at them.

John sucked in a loud breath and Matt twitched where he sat. 

Belmont’s eyes were black. Not like normal people had black eyes. Sclera---what on every human was the white surrounding the color of the eyes---was midnight black on him. Inside of that black field, his irises were brilliant gold, as inhuman as any Infected that John had seen in pictures or on TV.

“You see why I wear the contacts,” Belmont said dryly. “My father’s eyes are similarly striking, though he at least retains the white around his irises. It’s a, ha, bloodline specific trait.”

A million questions bubbled up inside of John, and not a single one of them were appropriate to ask. All he could do was stare for a few minutes longer. Eventually he found a way to shut his jaw and blink. 

He rallied. None of this changed what John knew to be true about his boss. Belmont’s kindness, his generosity, and his actions during the past year all stayed the same. So maybe Belmont’s family was a bit stranger than John expected. Honestly, given the last name, maybe John should have anticipated something like this?

His mind drew a blank for a moment.

Nope, definitely not. There was no way he could have seen this coming. Every fantastic, highly un-credible story about the Belmont line that he’d ever heard came swarming back into his brain. 

Then he thought of everything he’d seen in the past twenty four hours. Swords and men with cat eyes and black eyes and ridiculous power and inner knowledge of Dracula and his whereabouts…

This was stuff from a fairy tale. 

But there was his boss in front of him, looking more and more exhausted as the time stretched. Belmont wasn’t even looking at them any more; he was just gazing sadly at Geralt. 

Shit. 

Now John actually felt a little bad for freaking out.

“Shall I add contact fluid to your regular accessories list?” John asked as smoothly as he could. “I’m told it helps with the dryness.”

That earned him a tiny smile.

“That would help, yes. Thank you.”

“How soon should we expect your father?” Matt asked.

“Soon. Very soon.” Belmont frowned. “Hours at the most. When he arrives, he may be short with you. Dismissive. Please do not take offence. He doesn’t like people very much, and he’ll be worried for Geralt.” Belmont winced. “I said some harsh things when we parted, so he might be in a bad mood.”

“Noted. We appreciate the heads up,” Matt said evenly. 

“Any specific needs? Food requirements or dress items?”

Belmont looked at John with something akin to naked terror for a brief moment, before he schooled his face.

It took another moment of thinking, but eventually Belmont said, “I am not entirely sure of his attire, but if you manage to get some discreet scans of him when he arrives you could order some official wardrobe choices for him. He likes blacks and reds, maybe a little green. Jewel tones and as intimidating as it can be made. If there is metal, make it gold.” Then he seemed to think of something else. “Better not mention food.”

John thought of how Belmont himself seemed to be on the border line of some kind of eating disorder, given how little the man consumed. Then John remembered how Belmont said his father nagged him about eating, and how bitter he sounded about that. That mixed uneasily in John’s mind with the instant of panic he’d just witnessed. What could Belmont’s father possibly have said, or done, to him to give him that reaction to eating?

Yeah, maybe food wouldn’t be the best subject to bring up.

“I think that’s the most important things. All else can be addressed after he arrives.” Belmont sighed. “Unless you have more questions?”

John had a million and one, most of them would probably get him fired. So he just shook his head and saw Matt doing the same thing. Without another word, they both stood up and made their way out of the room. Belmont had already turned his attention to Geralt, and John really hoped the man would get some sleep. It sounded like he’d need it for the upcoming family reunion. 

After both he and Matt were out of the room, John quietly closed the door behind them, careful not to make much sound.

Then he turned to look at Matt. 

Normally, the two would never talk to each other outside of work related subjects. They were different enough that they might as well be from different worlds. But in the face of this particular night of strangeness, both of them shared the exact same expression. 

_What the fuck._

\--


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes from Quarra: Editing continues to move on. Here is a chapter an itty bit early.  
Note the second: We got art! Amazing [Dracula in a suit!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22466632)

After Ciri left Alucard and Geralt in their room, it only took her a few more minutes to get her gear, get armed up, and be on her way. Keith had messed with her stuff a bit, but only to organize and pack it up nicely into a white cloth. She struggled hard not to be amused at his utter professionalism as he gave her the blades back and asked her to count the items. She felt like he would commit a ritual suicide if she claimed an item was missing.

Just for caution’s sake, she headed out of the hospital for her portal. Alucard didn’t seem to be very keen on his people knowing he wasn't human. She wasn’t sure if that extended to them knowing she was a sorceress as well, but until she got more information on that she was willing to play it safe. 

Once Dracula arrived, no doubt that particular cat would be out of the bag. The chances were slim to none that he’d be able to keep his otherworldliness in check. Afterwards, she’d see how Alucard and his people were handling the situation, then reevaluate. 

On her way away from the hospital, she saw something that made her pause. It was a painted poster, clearly some kind of advertisement, showing yet another long haired man with ridiculously large fangs hilariously flailing around with a cross and chain. 

_Alucard!  
Coming Soon!_

She paused to look at it and realized there was another poster just up the street with the same man but in a completely different pose. The second poster showed him wearing white billowing shirt cut so deep in front she could see his belly button. He was bending a mostly naked, buxom brunette over his arm. She was covered only in strategically placed pieces of a bed sheet. Two neat puncture marks delicately bled from her neck as she stared doe eyed up at the man. Even more hilariously, in the background she could see a piece of bed visible and naked, shapely female legs sprawled there.

Ciri reached for that one, carefully prying it away from the wall by a corner that had already come loose. She couldn’t help a giggle at the sight of the pants so tight she could see which side the Alucard in the picture carried himself.

This would make a fantastic gift for her father. She might put it up in his room, right where Dracula and Alucard could enjoy it as well. Or rather, where Geralt and Dracula could enjoy it and Alucard could burn in torment. She almost wished there was a second one with this image on it, so she could keep it herself. 

Maybe next time she was here she would look for one.

Ciri carefully rolled the fine paper up and looked for a nice dark alleyway to portal out of. It didn’t take more than another minute or two to find a good spot, and then she was off. 

Knowing that it was going to be freezing cold outside back in her own world, she portaled right into the main hall of Kaer Morhen; Castlevania City was cold, but it was nothing like as frigid as Kaer Morhen in winter time. 

From there, she peeked into the kitchen. It was still pretty early, though, and no one was there. Not that she was surprised. She figured Eskel and Dracula were holed up in Geralt’s room anyways, but it looked like Vesemir wasn’t up yet either. 

She headed up the stairs to Geralt’s room. That was the most logical place for Dracula to be. Even before she reached the floor, she could smell how thick the darkness was there. The air tasted different with every step she made towards Geralt’s room. Raw, undiluted power crawled over the wood of the door so thickly that it stung her skin. 

Right as she was about to knock, the door swung open. 

Inside was lavishly different from the rest of the rooms in Kaer Morhen. The whole room was saturated with Dracula’s power, soaking the stonework until it was matte black. Luxurious furniture decorated the space and heavy dark curtains shrouded it in dim light, blocking the windows completely. A large candelabra in the corner and the fire in the fireplace kept the room from being truly dark. 

The bed was a massive thing, all covered in plush quilts, furs, and pillows. Inside it, Dracula lay on his back with Eskel sprawled over him. The heavy covers were pulled up to Eskel’s obviously naked chest, and he lay limp with his head buried into the crook of Dracula’s shoulder. The position gave her a nice view of four vicious-looking bites trailing down his neck, healing but heavily bruised. His skin was red and tender-looking around the torn teeth marks, a mute proof of where Dracula’s appetites lay. She wondered if those bites were the only ones on him, or if the covers hid more.

Dracula was clearly wide awake. His eyes burned red in the dim light and one hand was carefully combing through Eskel’s hair. As far as she could tell, he was naked too.

Ciri felt her cheeks heat up a bit. She knew that Eskel was close to Dracula, but she really hadn’t thought they were on sharing bed terms. But here they were. 

She closed her eyes for a moment and got her reactions under control. Whatever was going on here, Geralt surely knew about it, and was alright with it. That was what was important. Gods, but no wonder Eskel had gotten more physically friendly with them over the past few months. He was now part of a harem, after all.

Oh, she couldn’t wait to rib him about that.

“Tell me,” Dracula said quietly. Whatever he’d done to, or with, Eskel must have been exhausting, because Eskel didn’t so much as twitch. 

“Geralt is alive,” she said in the same quiet tone, taking a few steps into the room. “He’s been very, very badly hurt, and Alucard looks like he’s about to fall over, but they’re both alive.” 

Exhaustion overtook her finally too, which was about the time she remembered that she’d been traveling nonstop for many, many hours, without food or even drink. She fell down into a chair near the bed, trying to keep in close talking distance with Dracula. It felt easier to speak softly, and she didn’t really want to wake Eskel. He looked like he could use the rest. 

“He was asleep when I got there,” she continued. “They had to cut him up. A lot. Barely any part of him wasn’t covered in bandages and splints. Alucard said he’d be fine, but he’s got to stay still and recover.”

She shook her head and rubbed her face. 

“Gods. He just---he looked---” Ciri shook her head, and tried to focus on the good news. “He’s alive, and he’ll recover. That’s the important parts.”

“He’ll survive?” Dracula’s hand stilled in Eskel’s hair.

Ciri nodded, smiling. “Yes. Alucard asked me to tell you that you could join them now. He’s got a lot of humans with him, and they don’t actually seem to know he’s a vampire. Pretty odd, seeing him trying to pass, but I guess it’s helping. He goes by the name Trevor Belmont. Although given what I saw in the city, maybe there’s good reason.” 

With that she grinned like a lunatic and grabbed the poster, quickly unrolling it. This was the best thing she’d seen in ages, and she was going to show everyone she could. 

“Take a look at what I found near the hospital,” she said, turning the massive poster around, showing off her ill gotten gains to Dracula. It was nearly impossible to keep herself from doubling over with laughter, but she made an effort to keep the snickers under control. “I’m thinking this is a great get well present for Geralt.”

“‘Alucard the Vampire,’” Dracula read aloud, studying the poster, no doubt noting the number of naked female limbs. “‘The most engaging erotic thriller of the century.’” 

“Apparently he’s got quite the legend? Enough that people keep making stories about him.” She dissolved into snickers. “Oh Gods, father is going to laugh himself sick.”

Dracula looked thoughtful, his eyes narrowing in obvious speculation.

“Erotic, hmm?” he hummed. His voice had dropped low and it was inviting enough that even Ciri felt a tiny shiver of interest creep up her back.

She laughed quietly for a moment longer before she set the poster down, exhaustion and worry overcoming her again. 

“Geralt will live,” she said again. It was just as much a reassurance for herself as it was for Dracula. “He’ll recover and be fine. Apparently, he spoke enough that Alucard’s aide noticed that he and I share a few similar personality traits. Alucard won’t let him go. Kept a hand on him at all times. I’m not sure if that was because Geralt looked so---” Her throat closed up for a moment, and she had to swallow hard. “He looks rough. I don’t know how he’ll even move yet, but knowing father, the moment he’s awake he’ll be itching to get out of there. They’ve got a large and well trained group of guards around them, too. Very cautious group, and very professional. Alucard is treated like royalty there.”

She carefully removed the purple orb from her belt pouch and placed it on the table next to her. Whatever it was, whatever use Dracula had for it, she was glad that she wouldn’t need it any more. Now that she’d visited Castlevania City, she’d be able to find her way back there without assistance. 

Dracula extended his hand and the orb lifted up from the table, floating up to his open palm and then sinking into it soundlessly. Between one heartbeat and the next, the orb was gone. Disappeared. What was even more disturbing was that Ciri couldn’t even feel its chaotic, burning power any more. There was only Dracula.

“He looked…he looked dead when he was at the castle.” Dracula paused. “I heard his lungs stop when he breathed out. He didn’t take another breath, would have died right then and there if Alucard hadn’t stopped time for him.” 

Each word hurt, like a stab to her chest. Ciri found herself snarling down at the floor, so overcome with pain and rage that she couldn’t keep it in, not for a second longer. She’d held everything in, held it all together to get what was needed to be done, _done_. But now that she was suddenly without an immediate task, and drained magically and physically, she couldn’t help but let her emotions leak out. A few hot tears ran down her face, and she covered her eyes with one hand, trying to breathe through it. 

“He’s alive,” she reminded herself again.

“And he will stay that way. Alucard has his ways. He is very good at getting what he wants. And like me, he wants Geralt _alive_.”

She nodded, and resolved to try and find some way to thank Alucard. 

Then she thought of the bag of broken, poison arrows tied to her belt. Maybe she had a way to thank them all, and get a little satisfaction for herself, too. Whatever, whoever had started this whole damn mess, she’d find out, and those responsible would have more than Dracula to deal with.

“These were taken out of my father’s body during the surgery.” She put the bag on the table, unwilling to look at the metal and death inside. It was enough that she could smell Geralt’s blood on it along with the sharp scent of hospital.

There was a soft noise as Eskel stirred, nudging his head a little up into Dracula’s unmoving hand. 

“Mmmmph?” He turned his head, and blinked rapidly, finally noticing where Ciri sat next to them near the bed. Then he groaned, his face turned red, and he scrunched up his nose.

“It lives!” she crowed, catching Eskel’s sleep-fuzzy eyes.

“Ugggg, I am the worst witcher ever,” he groaned quietly, though made no move to get up. He just buried his face back into Dracula’s neck. “How long have you been sitting here?”

“Hours,” she said with a straight face. “I came back yesterday, but you hadn’t moved so we decided to play some truth and dare in the meantime. I just cleaned up the debris from the last game.”

“I hate you,” Eskel said grumpily, and turned his face a little farther into Dracula’s shoulder. His ears burned bright red, though, and the flush spread down his neck. 

“You look comfy,” she said with a grin. “Looked even comfier when I saw you sleep while he petted your hair. I never knew that it was your weakness.”

The red was starting to creep down Eskel’s shoulders and he groaned again quietly, his whole body tensing up in acute embarrassment. 

“Less than ten minutes,” Dracula said, unexpectedly taking pity on him. “Geralt is alive and recovering, though severely wounded.” 

Ciri hid her surprise at the fact that Dracula seemed so eager to offer comfort, to ease Eskel even when the reason for his discomfort was nothing worse than some teasing.

The line of tension eased out of Eskel’s back and he sighed in relief. “Thank the Gods,” he said quietly.

Then Eskel moved, shifting off of Dracula and sitting up. The blankets fell down to pool around their waists, exposing the triangular mark over his heart. She’d seen it before; it was something he’d picked up after the Novigrad incident. Only it was no longer triangular. There were little tendrils curling out from the bottom end. Unrecognizable runes had spread outward into Eskel’s chest, making the mark look like it was a living, growing thing. Like it had set in roots. 

He didn’t seem to take any notice of it. He just rubbed at his closed eyes, and groaned a little. His new position showed off the other side of his neck, though, which had an extremely impressive bruise on it in the shape of a hand print. 

Holy fuck. 

It took a fair amount of effort, but Ciri did her best to school her expression. Whatever went on here, it wasn’t for her to be judgemental about it. Eskel wouldn’t be so relaxed if he felt forced or uncomfortable in any way. Not only that, but it was obvious that whatever had happened in the last few hours had helped mellow Dracula out immensely.

Dracula eased up as well, so they were both sitting upright on the bed. His eyes followed the way Eskel moved, lingering on the bites and bruises, and the hand that was on Eskel’s head slid down to hold his neck. It must have been a gentle touch, though, because Eskel didn’t so much as wince as Dracula brushed over the marks there. 

After a moment, Eskel dropped his hand and looked over to Dracula. The expression on his face was surprisingly concerned. The way his brow wrinkled, the way his eyes darted down Dracula’s body and up to his eyes. It was obvious that Eskel was worried _for_ Dracula, not _about_ him or his actions. 

By now, the oppressive darkness around them had eased. Ciri didn’t feel like she needed to crawl out of her skin at the prickling sensation of so much chaotic, dark energy seeping up out of the stone. It had retreated back into something more manageable, and Dracula’s eyes had lost some of their burning glow as well.

For a moment, Eskel and Dracula only had eyes for each other. It felt private, intimate in a way that made Ciri want to blend into the wall. 

Dracula leaned forward and pulled Eskel towards him at the same time, letting their foreheads rest together. They both closed their eyes. He ran his hand through Eskel’s hair again, bringing it to a slow stop over Eskel’s neck.

“Thank you,” Dracula said softly. 

They breathed softly together for a moment as Dracula dragged his thumb back and forth across one of the bite marks. Then Dracula’s body dissolved into darkness, and melted away. 

Eskel sagged forward for a moment, suddenly without the support he’d been leaning on. He looked up just long enough to watch the last bit of Dracula’s shadow fade from the bed. 

Once it had completely vanished, he face planted right back into the mattress.

“Ugggggg,” he groaned quietly. 

Ciri gave him a moment to gather himself, and then said, “I’ve got to admit, I’m a little surprised. Alucard, sure. Anyone can see you two are friendly. But Dracula, too?”

“It’s not a sex thing,” Eskel said, voice muffled by the bed he refused to get up from.

“Uh huh.” 

“I wore pants. He wore pants! We didn’t---” Eskel sighed. “Nevermind. You aren’t gonna believe me.”

The truth was, she almost did believe him. As far as she knew, Eskel wasn’t really interested in men. More than that, while there was some physical closeness in the last few months between the four of them, it wasn’t the same as how Geralt, Dracula, and Alucard were with each other. 

Still, the evidence was pretty damning. Besides, this was perfect fodder for teasing.

“Hey, whatever you want to do.” She raised her hands, as if showing that she wasn’t going to touch the whole situation. “Besides, you kind of fell onto your sword for Temeria, there. Or fell onto his sword. Whatever.” 

Eskel threw a pillow at her. She ducked it, grinning. 

“I didn’t. Not in either respect.” Now Eskel looked up to give her the stink eye. “I mean, yes, it was good to stop him from burning everything to a cinder there. But even if he wasn’t, I would have gone to help.” His face grew sadder for a moment, more worried. “Geralt means a lot to him. And to me. We’re friends.”

For a moment, Ciri assumed he was saying that Geralt and he were friends. Which, _obviously_. But then as she thought about it, it occurred to her that he might be saying that he and Dracula were friends, too. That alone was kind of a stunning thought. 

“Come on,” Eskel said, pushing himself up from the bed. Before she could complain about seeing him naked, the covers fell off of him showing that yes, indeed, he did have a pair of sleeping pants on. “I need to eat. And get something hot to drink.” 

She watched as Eskel got out of the bed and went digging around through one of Geralt’s clothing chests. As he moved, she idly admired the build on him. He was a couple inches shorter than Geralt, and a little thicker with muscle. His brown hair hung loose down to his shoulders, and like all witchers, he was covered in scars. Most of the Wolf witchers were a little on the pale side, and Eskel was no exception to that, especially now in winter.

She’d been spoiled by growing up with witchers. Now all the men that she met looked soft and weak in comparison, never quite reaching the height of physical perfection she was used to. There were exceptions even among witchers, of course; some of them went way overboard with training and building up their muscles. But Geralt and her adopted uncles? Damn, a girl got used to good things. 

If she died alone because all men looked less than attractive in comparison, and she was unable to think of any of the Wolf witchers as partners, she was going to haunt them just to share her misery around.

Women were an option for her, at least. Ciri had very fond memories of Mistle. They were young and the situation wasn’t ideal, but they’d cared about each other. After Mistle’s murder, she hadn’t had the heart to look for love with anyone for a while.

Maybe she was starting to reconsider that. At least on a physical level. 

Just the mention of food was enough for Ciri’s stomach to protest its poor treatment. As exhausted as she was, food was a very good plan. Get something to eat, then fall over somewhere. After that maybe she would head back to see Geralt. 

She looked over to where Eskel was still groggily digging through a chest of shirts. Maybe he might like to join her. Alucard and Dracula both might appreciate his presence there, too.

Eskel finally found what he was looking for and slipped a loose shirt on over his head. She wondered if he knew his scars were looking better than ever before. They were losing the redness and the puckering buildup characteristic of badly healed wounds; while potions were life saving, they didn’t always heal things smoothly or prettily and witcher regeneration could only do so much. 

He left the collar of the shirt loose, probably because his neck was killing him. It was a mild surprise that he didn’t bother going for a Swallow to speed the healing along.

“Come on,” he said, nodding towards the door. He paused to grab some soft leather house boots, and then headed towards the door. “Fill me in on the details over some tea.”

He looked like a mess. 

Ciri shook her head and snorted softly in amusement, then followed him out the door.

\--

“You think this red is good enough?” The voice was doubtful. The pitch was high and light. A woman, then. “The last was too orange. It clashed with my skin unpleasantly.”

“Go with something a little pinker. A little cooler,” a second female voice added, this one a little lower in pitch.

“And don’t wear silver jewelry,” a soft male voice added with a touch of exasperation. “I told you before silver looks bad on you.”

“The best pieces I have are silver!” cried the first voice.

“You need to get some better tribute. Maybe try trading some crude silver bits for really delicate copper work? Take craftsmanship over metal value?”

“Easy for you to say,” the first voice grumbled. “If only _this one_ would decide to give in, we could come up with some kind of schedule. Now I can’t even take time away from the castle to get anything done!”

Vesemir groaned and shoved his head back under his pillow. More and more often, the succubi and sole incubus of Kaer Morhen found their way to his bedroom to gossip. He wouldn’t mind so much, except they kept doing it while he was trying to sleep.

“Don’t complain! I heard you got to serve our Lord himself in the baths the other day!” the second female voice said, obviously thrilled with this new piece of gossip.

“Mmmmm,” the first voice hummed with satisfaction. “He’s such a _man_.” 

Iga. That was Iga, talking about whatever she was doing with Dracula. Which Vesemir really did not want to know. Iga was beautiful, very much so, and it wasn’t like Vesemir was dead. He had some interest. But she was a demon, and that’s where his interest totally fell off. Hearing her and the other sex demons talk about the rest of the inhabitants of the castle was taxing on the best of days. 

The second female voice must be Eyra. Sometimes other succubi wandered in and out of Kaer Morhen, but those two stuck around most of the time. 

He tried to pile another pillow onto his head. Maybe that would help.

“At least you’re getting fed _something_,” the male voice grumbled. Vesemir recognized it as belonging to the one lone incubus that frequented the keep. 

“Maybe we could get Lambert drunk?” Iga mused. “Lord knows once he starts going it’s a marathon. And he does like to change the holes he uses. Maybe if we got him drunk enough and dressed you up prettily he wouldn’t notice the switch?”

“If that were the only criteria, we should add Eskel to that, too. Besides, have you ever seen him wrapped up in the Master’s arms?” 

There was a happy sigh. 

“Eskel is out of bounds unless he either asks or we are specifically ordered to him,” Eyra warned. “The mark on him is clear.”

“Yeah,” Iga sighed. “And he fucks so good! Always makes sure we come too.”

“Does he do men?” the incubus asked, already sounding defeated.

“Not that I’ve heard of,” Eyra said apologetically. “But sometimes his scent when he’s with Master or Sir…I _wonder_, is all I’m saying.”

The male sighed again. At some point Vesemir was going to have to learn his name.

Vesemir finally unburied himself from his pile of blankets and pillows, and glared over at the group of demons sitting in front of his fireplace. The women were wearing lacy peignoirs, and the material was so thin that Vesemir could see the shapes of their perky breasts under the gauzy fabric. Their long legs were bare and apparently unfeeling of the chill in the air. 

Both succubi were blondes, though Iga was rosy skinned with walnut brown eyes and Eyra was pale with eyes so pale brown that they were nearly gold. Both had horns growing out of the tops of their heads, delicately curling close to their skulls and down near their ears. Eyra’s horns were light brown and Iga’s were closer to a gold color.

The lone incubus was in a similar gauzy robe as the succubi, but with a very thin pair of sleeping pants on as well. He looked to be a young man with golden skin and golden brown hair curling up charmingly over his forehead. Small horns peeked out of his hair and curled close to his skull, though they were about half the length of Iga and Eyra’s. 

“There is a kitchen,” Vesemir said, annoyed. “It has a nice big table. You could spread out your---” he looked at the small array of bottles around them, and sniffed the air “---nail paints and still have plenty of room for drinks. There is even a fire. And you could do all this without waking me up.”

“But how would we ask then if you fancied a nice little morning blowjob?” Iga was already letting one shoulder of her ridiculously thin robe fall down, revealing the curve of her naked breasts. The material snagged on her hardened nipple and stopped its descent. Vesemir swallowed and turned his eyes away.

“Besides, this is around when you normally wake up anyways. We kept quiet until then.” Eyra winked at him. “Though if you prefer, we could keep you warm under your furs. I’m sure we could find a more pleasant way to wake you up.”

He sighed, closed his eyes, and counted to five. “No, thank you, though I appreciate the offer.”

“Yet you keep refusing,” Eyra sighed.

“I can appreciate the sentiment behind the offer without partaking in it,” he said mildly, sitting up in bed. After months and months of being constantly propositioned by the succubi, Vesemir always made sure to have a dedicated set of sleeping clothes. Pants and a shirt. Sleeping nude was just asking for trouble. 

“Nobody is partaking in this place,” the incubus murmured gloomly.

“Maybe one of the sorceresses will visit,” Vesemir said dryly. 

“Ciri is here,” Iga said.

This only made the incubus’s shoulders fall a little farther down. “She’s not partaking either.” He slumped in his chair. “Says I’m not her type. Too skinny and too young. I think she only likes warrior types. Too used to you witchers.”

Both the succubi winced in sympathy. 

“That’s a tough break,” Eyra said. 

“Why is Ciri here?” Vesemir asked. That was sort of unusual, especially since Geralt wasn’t here and hadn’t been for a few weeks.

The demons just shrugged. 

“She and Eskel are in the kitchen. Master was here, but he left. Not sure why.” Iga carefully dabbed a tiny brush into a vial of pinkish-red paint. “Master was upset. Very, very upset. We didn’t dare go near.”

Vesemir just rubbed his eyes. 

“I saw the evidence on Eskel’s neck,” the incubus said with a breathy voice. “Damn.”

“Oooo, really?” Eyra leaned in a bit. “Tell.”

“Bites. Several of them. Bruised and deep, too.” He sounded unreasonably jealous.

They all sighed happily, and Vesemir could smell their interest and desire in the air. 

Time to get dressed and go. At least as long as the demons insisted on invading his space, he got the latest news while they were there. He stood up and dug through his chests for a fresh set of day clothes, then grabbed his gear too. He’d go and dress in the baths. There was no point in trying to kick the demons out so he could have a little privacy. They’d only want to stay and watch. And make comments. Probably start losing clothes in strange and mysterious ways. Vesemir might be old, but he wasn’t dead yet.

Before he walked out, he paused to look at their color selections.

“Eyra is right,” he said to Iga. “The cooler red looks good on you. Try the purple-red, too. Save the gold-peach for him.” He waved at the incubus. 

The demon in question cheered up. Damn, but he was a pretty boy, especially when he smiled hopefully up at Vesemir. “Really?”

Vesemir just nodded. “Maybe you should consider asking Dracula to allow you to visit elsewhere from time to time? No sense in letting you starve here.”

The incubus deflated a bit as he realized that Vesemir wasn’t actually flirting. 

“I won’t starve,” the incubus said, sounding glum again. “We all have a blood oath to our Lord. It means his power feeds into ours if we go too low. But it’s like eating porridge, every day, for all of your meals, always. While a good romp in the sheets is like a well baked turkey, full of flavors and juices.”

Since _flavors and juices_ were the absolute last thing Vesemir needed to think about right that second, he just shook his head. “Thank you for the heads up about Dracula, Eskel, and Ciri,” he said, and then headed out.

The trip to the bath was a quick one, if cold. Over the years he’d gotten used to the drafty halls, though they seemed less so today. It made him wonder just how much Dracula’s magic had seeped into the stone. Vesemir was still stunned at the way Dracula rebuilt whole parts of Kaer Morhen. Magic was one thing, but he didn’t expect the baths to be as pretty as they were. There was an artistry to their creation that he hadn’t expected of someone as destructive as Dracula.

The large sunken pool in the basement baths was continually fed by a stream that was directed to the ruined castle straight from the mountain that the fortress was hugging. Water from the stream first dropped into a shallow pool, in the middle of which a huge metal cauldron was placed. Inside the cauldron there was a burning, twisting ball of orange-yellow fire that never burned out. One of the succubi told him it was a fire elemental that had moved in, lured in by Dracula’s chaos power. It was so hot that the whole cauldron, big enough to house four grown men, was cherry red on the inside, making the water around the outside of it hiss and boil. That basin of water was allowed to overflow, raining hot water down into the main bathing pool like a tiny, captive waterfall. 

It was a show not only of power but also of craftsmanship and knowledge. Whoever designed it knew that hot water would gather at the top of the heating basin, and cold water would fall to the bottom as it heated up. Somehow, the water that flowed into the main bathing pool was always just the right temperature. Hot enough to ease sore muscles, but still cool enough to be tolerable. There were smaller aqueducts feeding in cold water at various spots; Vesemir couldn’t tell if there was method to it or if this was done just to look pretty. 

The main bathing pool had a permanent drain that flowed off back out of the basement. Where, exactly, it went, Vesemir wasn’t sure. He suspected that it ran through some kind of filtering system, and then was expelled down the side of the mountain. Or perhaps it went to watering the vegetation in the courtyard.

He _hoped_ it ran through a filtering system. 

The result was ever-steaming, hot bath that never ran out. It was well stocked with herbs and soaps, with clean towels always waiting on the edges. Dracula’s servants were amazing in their efficiency. As much as Vesemir didn't like the idea of Dracula changing Kaer Morhen, he had to admit he loved the baths.

Vesemir washed up quickly, and then dressed himself for the day, putting on his regular clothes as well as his armor and swords as a matter of habit. Whatever was going on had piqued his interest, and he was eager to see what news Ciri and Eskel had. 

By the time he got to the kitchen, Ciri and Eskel were both finishing up plates of some kind of egg dish. Something with bits of sausage and potato mixed in, from the scent of things.

“Morning,” Ciri said tiredly, and waved at the large skillet on the hob. She looked like she hadn’t slept in days, very nearly nodding off in her chair. “We made extra for you.” 

Eskel looked worse than she did. The demons were right, his neck looked mauled. There were bites all down one side and heavy bruising on the other. He had his head rested on his fist, propped up by the table, and he still looked like he was in sleeping clothes. The shirt he had on was mostly open in the front, too, and Vesemir could see Dracula’s mark peeking out from the opening.

Vesemir served himself up a plate of the egg dish and sat down, eyeing the bite marks. “Really, Eskel?”

All he got in return was a rude gesture. 

“You look like I expect Geralt to look.” Vesemir shook his head.

That just made Eskel’s head sink a little lower, his shoulders coming up around his ears. 

“Eskel had a hell of a night,” Ciri said with amusement. 

“It certainly looks like it.” Vesemir took a delicate sniff, and frowned a bit. Eskel did look like it, but he didn't smell like it. There wasn’t a hint of sex or old arousal on him. Just his regular personal scent mixed in with Dracula’s and Geralt’s. He was wearing Geralt’s shirt from the looks of the loose fit, but Dracula’s burning scent clung to him, strong enough that it was overpowering even from all across the room. 

“Yesterday was a rough day,” Eskel said finally. “Geralt’s hurt. Badly.”

Vesemir’s spine stiffened. “How badly?”

“Gods, Vesemir.” Ciri covered her face with her hands. “He nearly died. Would have, if not for Alucard. Dracula…” She winced.

“Dracula must have lost his damn mind,” Vesemir finished for her. 

“Remember that huge forest that used to be on the south-east side of Temeria?” Ciri asked.

“Used to be?” Oh, that didn’t sound good.

“Well, there’s still some forest left, but it’s by no means huge now.” Eskel chimed in. 

_For fucks sake, Geralt, this is why you don’t fuck chaos gods._ Vesemir rubbed his face in his hands for a moment. “But he stopped before getting to the deep forest.”

“Mmhmmm.” Eskel nodded, poking at his food. “The fires didn’t make it to Brokilon proper, I guess, but the Temeria side of the border is fucked.”

That was just as well. Brokilon was its own country, ruled by dryads and filled with elves, nymphs, and other sentient forest creatures. If that had been destroyed, it would have been like burning down a whole civilization. Just destroying human-inhabited forests was bad enough, but destroying Brokilon would have been a bloody genocide.

“Eskel managed to calm him down a bit, and I portaled out to go get news. Just got back a short while ago.” Ciri slouched further down in her chair.

“We came back by...horseback,” Eskel said. “Kinda.”

Vesemir frowned.

“When did all that happen then? Last I heard you weren't even close to Temeria. Besides it would take weeks to ride back from there!”

“Yesterday,” Ciri said.

“Dracula summoned a horse. I think.” Eskel said between mouthfuls of food. “It looks and acts like a horse. Mostly at least. We rode it, her, back.”

A frustrated groan escaped Vesemir, and he looked up at the ceiling, praying for strength. At this point, he was well familiar with how Dracula liked to skirt the rules in everything that he did. “What sort of creature do I have to worry about now,” he asked flatly.

“Night the mare. She’s out in the courtyard. Eating rabbits.”

As if the beast in question could hear them talking about her, a loud neigh could be heard out in the yard. While the kitchen was on the ground floor of the keep, that was still elevated from the courtyard level by several feet. Given the volume of the sound, Vesemir was certain that Night must have been right below the window. _Waiting_. 

“Night, the mare,” Eskel repeated, a strange expression on his face. “The mare called Night,” he said again, an expression of a dawning understanding spreading on his face. Then he dropped his fork and rubbed his hands over his face. “No fucking wonder I was dreaming of a horse chasing me.”

Because of course Dracula’s chosen mount would actually be a literal nightmare. Witchers called those types of creatures the Mara, or just the Mare. The name ‘Night the Mare’ clearly had many meanings.

“Do you feel exhausted?” Vesemir asked, trying to ascertain the extent of the damage. If the beast was actually feeding on him, leaving him too drained to function, that couldn’t stand. Dracula would just have to find somewhere else to store his horse.

“Eh? I got sleep. It wasn’t fantastic, but it was sleep. I think most of what I’m feeling is blood loss related.” Eskel winced and put a hand over the bites on his neck. “He took a lot.”

There wasn’t really anything polite Vesemir could say to that, but he did briefly consider throwing his plate at Eskel’s head. Finally he said, “That does tend to happen when you sleep with vampires.”

“I didn’t sleep with him! I mean, we did sleep. Actual sleep happened. But that was---” Eskel stopped long enough to see that both Vesemir and Ciri were just looking at him, eyebrows raised in disbelief. “Nevermind.” He pushed aside his plate and laid his head down on the table. 

It was tempting to keep the teasing going, but Vesemir could see how tired Eskel was still. And if what they said was true, Eskel had done them all a favor by distracting Dracula’s rampage. There was a small part of him that was somewhat pleased to see Eskel find someone to share his time with, too. Of all his remaining boys, Eskel seemed the most alone. It would be a shame to ruin that with teasing.

Although Vesemir wished that Eskel had had more sense on the matter than Geralt. Apparently not.

From the very first night Geralt had introduced them to his new lovers, Vesemir had feared what would happen if Geralt was ever seriously injured. Of the very few people and things that Dracula cared about, as far as Vesemir could tell anyways, Geralt was the more vulnerable. Not only because he was mortal, but because the very nature of his Path kept him in life threatening situations. 

Clearly, Dracula and Alucard had found a way to cope with the aftermath of most of Geralt’s jobs. It had been more than a year since the three of them had been together, and Geralt had to have been seriously injured more than once in that time. Probably several times, actually. There hadn’t been any kind of fallout from any of those events. Not that Vesemir could see anyways.

This was different, though. 

“What happened to Geralt?” he asked Ciri.

She sighed. “Triss and Yennefer pieced a lot of this together before they got in touch with me. That was sometime yesterday, so they no doubt have new information by now.” 

Ciri waved her hand in a tired, somewhat dismissive gesture, and shoveled another fork full of egg in her mouth. Vesemir wanted to applaud her for that. Magic took a lot out of a person, and sometimes killed the appetite, too. It made him proud to see her taking care of herself. 

“As far as they could tell,” she continued in between bites, “Geralt was somewhere in Temeria. Probably not Vizima, but maybe Dorian or Maribor. Somewhere in the southwest. Somehow, the Order of the Flaming Rose got tipped off that Geralt was in the area. They gathered up their brothers, and went on a little witch hunt.”

To that, both Eskel and Vesemir wrinkled their brows in confusion.

“But. Why?” Eskel asked. “They don’t like us witchers, but they don’t usually run us out of town. Or at least they probably shouldn’t based on their own damn religion. King Foltest doesn’t even like them that much. He took all their gold after that whole uprising nonsense.”

“Yes, and most of them moved north to Redania and Kaedwen. But there are still chapters in every major city in Temeria. Or, there were anyways.” Ciri shrugged. “Pretty sure everyone who went on that little witch hunt is now ash in the breeze, along with several leagues of forest. Anyways. This is where it gets…political.”

Eskel groaned and Vesemir rolled his eyes. Gods, this was why witchers stayed neutral. To try and avoid this nonsense.

“I know, I know.” Ciri paused to take a drink, wetting down her throat. “So, remember that whole thing back in Novigrad? The first time that Dracula showed off a little?” 

Eskel stiffened in his seat. That incident may have been a fun romp for Dracula and Alucard, but it was nightmarish for Eskel. Vesemir had heard a little of what had happened from Geralt, drinking late one night. They’d almost lost Eskel there, either to death or madness. It was through the efforts of Geralt, Alucard, and Dracula together that they managed to get him out whole, if severely injured. 

Come to think of it, that may have been where this newfound closeness to Dracula came from. Vesemir eyed the mark that peeked through Eskel’s shirt. Dracula, staking his claim.

“Well,” Ciri continued, “Dracula blasting that building to molten glass caused quite a stir.”

“That’s an understatement, I’m sure,” Vesemir said dryly.

Ciri nodded. “When his dragon form appeared in the sky, all of the lights in every temple and every altar to the Eternal Flame in Novigrad went out. The sky was dark for two solid days afterwards. Seers all across the nearest three countries started picking up visions of dark, living shadows. It’s been months and the crater is still considered cursed.”

“Demons galore, I bet,” Eskel said quietly, though he didn’t sound unhappy about it. If anything, there was a vicious sort of satisfaction to the words.

“Yup, though not as many as there could or maybe should have been, what with how attuned that little bit of land is now to Dracula’s power. He must have sealed the rift so nothing major could get through, but…” She waved her fork in the air and rolled her eyes.

“But little things get through. Or are simply attracted to it,” Vesemir said. 

“Exactly. So, in the last few months various powers have been scrambling to try and figure out what happened.” She paused to take another bite, then held up a single finger. 

“First, you have the Regency Council of Redania. Novigrad is a free city, and is Redanian in name only. They pay tribute to the council and get all the protections from the Royal Military and their various peace treaties, but they make and enforce their own laws. This little upset set the Council to considering if they should take a more active role in governing there. So they’ve sent in their spies to dig around.”

She held up a second finger. “Then you have the Order of the Flaming Rose. There are several groups of holy orders and monster hunters concerned with the demon outbreak, but the Order was particularly invested. They’ve been rallying power and gaining traction. People are afraid, and that means they’re starting to listen to anyone promising safety. No matter how damn stupid they sound.”

“Lambert was saying that Redania was difficult this year,” Vesemir mused. “He even left winter rest early to take on more jobs.”

“It’s not that there are more jobs.” Eskel shook his head, and poked at his food. “Maybe the bounties have been a little more on the demonic side, but the number of jobs is around the same. It’s just a lot of the damn bigotry has been worse. I haven’t seen it getting bad here in Kaedwen or even south of here, but the western side of Redania…I’ve had to skip more towns than expected. Not only because inexperienced dumbasses from the Order are taking all the jobs and not asking even a single clipped coin for them, but because people are just a bit more unfriendly.”

“That’s it in a nutshell. The Order is active, and they’re stirring up trouble.” Ciri paused. “_Maybe._”

“What do you mean, maybe?” Vesemir frowned at her. 

Ciri held up a third finger. “Here’s the extremely tricky part. Triss and Yennefer think, _think_ mind you, that Nilfgaard has been sending out spies to stir up trouble. They’ve done it before, after all, and they are eager as hell to destabilize Temeria as much as possible. Losing the Second War hurt, and Emperor Emhyr has a bug up his ass to conquer the Northern Kingdoms. If Temeria falls, then the rest are likely soon to follow. So while it’s _possible_ that the Order saw Geralt around town and decided he was the root of all ills and needed to be hunted down immediately---”

“It’s just as likely that someone put them up to it.” Eskel interrupted her, and groaned. “I find it hard to believe that Geralt couldn’t take down a single chapter of those idiots.” 

Vesemir tapped his fingers on the table, his frown growing deeper. None of this boded well, not for anyone. 

“Right?” Ciri pointed at him. “And how did they know to call up all the chapters from the surrounding towns? It would have taken time to get them all in one place at one time. To get enough people to really press Geralt into running. Triss took a peek with her scrying. All the chapter houses in Southwestern Temeria are empty. The best we can figure is they gathered up into a larger group specifically to find him.” 

“In which case, someone was watching for him and keeping them informed,” Vesemir said.

“Exactly. So. It could have just been the Order being righteous bigots and going on a grand old witch hunt. Or they could have been put up to it by either Nilfgaardian or Redanian spies.”

“Why would Redania give a shit about killing Geralt?” Eskel asked with a frown. 

“Because if they were investigating around Novigrad, someone might have figured out that Geralt was in town the night before Dracula’s dragon showed up, looking into that specific property.” Ciri raised her eyebrows at him. “We both know how he investigates, and Alucard and Dracula weren’t helping him out at all. So he probably went to every single information source he could and just stabbed things until someone gave him the location he needed.”

Vesemir shook his head. “That’s a long shot, Ciri. Someone would have to find exactly who Geralt talked to, what he was looking for in the first place, and then added it all up to get a full story.”

“All of which can be done with time and effort,” she replied evenly. “Spies know their business, and they’re as persistent as the plague. Besides, Geralt is neither subtle nor unnoticeable. People remember the White Wolf, the Butcher of Blaviken. They wouldn’t have even needed to start asking about him. They would have just had to ask about the property, figured out who was living there, and then see who _else_ was interested in that place before it got melted. Geralt’s name would have eventually come up.”

“Still doesn’t explain why they’d care to kill him,” Eskel said. 

“Because if he can call down a giant demonic dragon, that’s a power worth either controlling or stopping,” Vesemir said, shaking his head. What a clusterfuck.

Ciri just shook her head at them. “It’s not just that. Redania might need him to seal the deal with Novigrad. Think of how much pull they’d get if they could offer the head of the man responsible for the current plague of terror they’re now facing. A guarantee that the dragon won’t ever show up again is a pretty sweet bonus to that deal. And if they can use their spies to convince the zealots of the Order to do it for them, well, all the better.” 

“Shit.” Eskel dropped his fork and rubbed the bites on his neck. 

“Yup,” Ciri said with a nod. 

“As interesting as this speculation is, none of it actually gives us names,” Vesemir said.

“Yup,” Ciri said again, this time sounding more exhausted. “As soon as I got the information from Triss and Yennefer, I portaled off to grab Eskel, portaled us to Dracula, and then portaled myself to a whole new world. Alucard’s home world, it turns out. It’s where he took Geralt to recover. Then I wandered over that crazy city for several hours trying to find them. And _then_ I portaled back here to talk to Dracula.”

“For fuck’s sake, girl.” Vesemir almost reached over to smack her in the back of the head. “How are you even still standing? Get some sleep!”

“Trust me, food was more important,” she said, scraping the last bite off of her plate. “Besides, I needed to fill you all in. And give you this.” 

She pointed to a bag on the floor. What it was made of, Vesemir couldn’t tell, but when he leaned over and sniffed he could smell Geralt’s blood on it. And something else, too. 

“In there are poisoned arrows. They were taken out of Geralt. You know more about poison than I do. Would you look at them and see what kind it is? It might give us a hint as to what happened.” 

Eskel snorted. “Because it’s not like Dracula left bodies, let alone witnesses to question. Fuck.” He shook his head. “The border there is a damn wasteland now.”

“Dracula didn’t get to any towns? None at all?” Vesemir found that hard to believe. 

“Apparently Geralt ran, and they had to hunt him down,” Ciri said with a visible shiver.

“I bet you he led them away on purpose,” Eskel said quietly. “Probably nearly killing himself to do it. He had to know that Dracula would lay waste to whoever was hunting him. So he led them away from the towns.”

_Fuck._ That sounded exactly like something Geralt would do.

“He’s alive, though? And he’ll recover?” As completely fucked as the rest of this situation was, Geralt was a good friend. Like a son in some ways. It brought a great, aching pain to his chest to think that Geralt may have been lost to them.

“Yes.” Ciri’s voice was filled with relief, and she slumped farther down in her chair. “Alucard was able to help him in time. Barely.”

Vesemir cast an appraising eye over her, taking in the heavy purple rings under her eyes and the paleness of her face. “Go rest, Ciri. We’ll take care of the dishes. I’ll look at the arrows after.”

She nodded. “Once I get a few hours sleep, I’ll contact Triss and Yennefer. See what else they’ve dug up.”

With that, she stood up and staggered off down the hall towards her room. Vesemir turned to look at Eskel, who was still barely upright in his chair.

“You too. Go sleep it off. You look like you need it.”

To his great shock, Eskel didn’t even argue. He just pushed himself up to standing and headed out of the room. As he passed by, he dropped his hand on Vesemir’s shoulder for a moment. “Thanks, old man.”

“Troublemaker,” Vesemir grumbled affectionately back. Half of his grey hairs had to come from Eskel and Geralt alone, pulling all the ridiculous stunts they did as children here in Kaer Morhen. 

He looked around the kitchen for a moment, and then quickly finished up his breakfast. It took only a moment to wash the few dishes. While he worked, he listened to the quiet sounds of their latest demonic addition to the keep frolicking around the yard. 

“Hmmmm. Night, the mare,” Vesemir said quietly to himself. 

Once the few dishes were clean and put away, he put on his winter cloak and boots and headed outside. He’d get to the arrows in a moment. First, he had to talk to a horse.

The horse was pretty, Vesemir had to admit. Strong and tall, he watched the mare prance along the battlements until she noticed him. Then she turned, heedless and unafraid of the height, and trotted along the crumbling stone towards him, her head and tail high. Her long mane was as black as her midnight coat and it seemed to float in the air behind her as she moved. 

When she reached the edge of what she could reasonably walk across, she looked down and strained her neck to look over the edge of the battlements, obviously doing some kind of mental calculation. Somehow, Vesemir wasn’t at all surprised at the fact her legs suddenly bent in ways no horse was actually capable off. She jumped down from the battlements to the courtyard proper in a leap more befitting a cat than a horse. 

Once on the lower level she straightened out, again looking like a mostly regular horse, and resumed her trot. Her ears pricked forward and she would have looked cute if not for the fangs sticking out from between her lips or the claws hidden in her feathering. The red eyes were a bit of a put-off, too.

It wasn’t the first time that Vesemir noticed that Dracula’s things tended to be both beautiful and scary.

“Greetings, Night the mare,” Vesemir said as soon as she was in range. “I’m Vesemir. I watch over the keep.”

He held out a bit of bread with jelly on it, something he’d snagged before he left the kitchen, and hoped that she was like other horses in that she’d go for sweets. 

She sniffed his face first. Those fangs came way too close for his liking before she turned to the offered treat. She obviously made an effort to lip the bread gently from his palm, making pleased little huffs as she ate what he brought.

It was impossible not to crack a smile at her obvious satisfaction in the treat. He wasn’t quite sure how smart she was, but he had a feeling she was smarter than a regular horse. 

_Ah well, might as well be polite. Better to assume more intelligence than less._

“Night, you’re welcome to stay here in Kaer Morhen.” She huffed at him, strong enough he could feel the breath fan his face. “But you need to be gentle with sleepers’ dreams. We are witchers, and being exhausted will kill us in battle.”

Her dark eyes were watching him carefully and her head lowered from her proud arch, enough he could pet her forehead if he wanted too. He got the impression she was listening to him.

“Eskel and Ciri are in a bad state today in particular. Let them rest for today, and I’ll share a fat chicken with you later tonight.”

She sighed, her sides expanding dramatically before sagging as if he had just told her that she would have to work without rest for days on end.

“Hmmm.” Vesemir thought for a moment. “Do you like being brushed?”

One ear went down, he couldn’t tell if it was surprise or confusion, but it did make her look hilarious. He didn’t laugh. She tilted her head at him.

“All our horses love being brushed. Not sure if you’d like it too, but come to the stables and I’ll brush you for a while. Get the dirt out of your hide and the tangles from your mane and tail.”

She neighed at him, short and loud, then turned towards the stables and started trotting, her tail high. Once she noticed he wasn’t beside her, she stopped. Looked at him, then at the stable, and back at him. Then she turned around, trotted back, and circled him so that she was once again beside him. This new position left her side open to him and her head pointing at the stable.

Apparently, she was pretty damn smart. He grinned ruefully. “Yes, now is fine. I have some work to do today, but I can stay for a little while.”

She looked at him, then back to her side, and back to him. The nod she gave him was something akin to ‘climb on’ sign.

That made him raise his eyebrow at her. 

“You realize there are a hundred tales of demon horses that take men for a ride that they never return from, yes?”

The sound she made then was a chortling kind of neigh that sounded eerily close to a laugh. She repeated her ‘climb on’ gesture, and this time her head bumped into him a little.

Vesemir considered for a moment. He remembered Dracula’s promise. No dark thing in this keep would ever harm them. Dracula was not a being who could disregard his own solemn vows. 

“Alright,” he said, and grabbed onto her mane, hoisting himself up onto her back. 

Her body was solid and powerful under him and her hide was glossy black and soft. It was surprisingly pleasant to be seated on her, even bareback. 

As soon as he settled, he felt something change. It started at her neck. Delicate curves of red light rose up on her hide, down along her neck, and then spreading lower. The intricate, oddly beautiful pattern flowed down over her sides and over her legs, glowing red against her black hide. Before he had the time to react, he felt her bunch up, muscles tensing under him. 

Then she _jumped_.

“Shit!”

He barely managed to tighten his legs around her as they went airborne. A flash of red lightning split the air before them, blinding him. 

When he blinked away the after burn on his vision, they were landing inside the stable. His lone horse neighed in distress as Night landed on the stone floor and danced a little in place, shaking her head like one shakes off hands after lifting a heavy weight.

Vesemir blinked and tried to unclench his fingers. That wasn’t what he was expecting. Shockingly fast. So very, very fast. 

She moved again, tensing up, but this time it was only to stomp at a bit of old hay stored in a corner. There was a squeak and a squish. Night nosed through the hay until she uncovered a half-squashed rat that she then promptly ate, bones crunching in her decidedly not herbivore teeth.

Carefully, Vesemir slid off her back, keeping one hand on her neck. 

“Amazing,” he said quietly. “It’s no wonder Dracula favors you.” 

He huffed a little in astonishment again, and looked her up and down. 

She lifted her head and pranced in place, very obviously proud of herself.

“I’ll go get the brushes and…” he paused to look at her feet. “Regular horses need their hooves picked out. Do you?”

She made a nodding gesture, picking up her front leg and obviously waiting for him to take it.

“I’ll get the picks, too then. Just a moment.” He headed over to the wall and grabbed his supplies. “You know, the garden has moles. And there are squirrels that keep breaking into the wood shed.”

That got him a short, excited neigh and some feet stomping. Obviously welcome news.

He had to pause for a moment, suddenly struck by the realization that he was going to be playing groom to a demon horse. Dracula’s demon horse, no less. And he’d walked right into that.

Vesemir shook his head. They were helping each other out, was all. She’d keep the pests under control, and he’d make sure everyone slept at least reasonably well. 

As he grabbed the hoof pick and wandered back over to her, he couldn’t help but wonder a little bit about how life in Kaer Morhen had changed. Vampires in the keep. Succubi and incubi in his bedroom. Fire elemental in the baths. Demon horse in the stables. 

Perhaps the most unsettling part about it all was how little it seemed to bother him. Objectively speaking, Vesemir was happier than he remembered being in a long while. Thanks to Dracula and his antics, Vesemir somehow got a lot more regular updates from the remaining wolf witchers than he had in years. 

The keep was no longer just a base of operations, a place to winter. It was starting to feel like a home again. 

The succubi with their offers of sex might be strange, but they also helped out with cooking and filled the place with chatter and ordinary, everyday things that he never expected to hear in this place again. Just the other day he caught them arguing about hogging the baths and who took the longest. There were flimsy, colorful clothes scattered around different rooms, and a lot of maintenance problems he was used to dealing with in the keep were somehow…not happening any more? 

He paused, suddenly realising he hadn’t had to patch up a leaking roof in months, nor did he have to fix a crumbling wall in any of the rooms. 

And his witchers. Geralt was the one who always got into the kind of trouble a witcher should never be part of, like assassinations of kings and other political stuff. He did it long before Dracula, but with the demon lord, his chances of survival skyrocketed. As did the chances of Vesemir knowing what happened to each of his remaining charges. 

That was the only thing he hated about being a witcher. That he would only know if any of the boys died if they stopped showing up for winter. Even then, he would spend years wondering if maybe they were still alive somewhere. Now he didn’t have to worry about that. Should something truly bad happen, he was sure most of the keep's inhabitants would know about it near instantly and pass the news.

With a lighter heart he bent down to work at cleaning out the debris stuck between the three thick claws that made up Night’s front foot.

\--

Matt Snow walked quietly between the stairwell entrance and the elevator doors. He was a professional. He’d been through all the joys and pains of waiting for a mission to start. That endless, nervous silence before a sudden firefight. 

So he knew how to keep his cool. When he paced back and forth between the checkpoints, it was calmly. His gait was slow and measured, and his expression was neutral. He firmly believed in leading by example. If he was in control, so would be his people.

All those years of past experience had never come in more handy, because Matt was extremely unsettled. Belmont had dropped several information bombs on him not more than an hour ago, and it took everything he had not to start buying out his weapons wishlist. 

Dracula was alive. Somewhere else, sure, and with no plans to come back to Castlevania City. But _alive_. 

Belmont was… well, whatever the hell he was, it wasn’t totally human. Those black and yellow eyes were something else. To be honest, Matt wasn’t really sure what to think about them. He’d seen a lot of shit in his career, both while in the military and after in the private sector. This night might take the cake, though. 

He had to wonder how many of the rumors about the Belmont family were true. Were they all demon hunters? Was that what Belmont’s guest was? Matt hadn’t missed that Ciri said her father had eyes like a cat, yellow with a vertical slit pupil. He knew that Belmont occasionally would disappear for days on end. Originally, he’d thought it was just another case of a billionaire being eccentric. But now he just wasn’t sure. Was Belmont off doing other things with this group of sword-toting wackos?

Which brought him back around to Ciri. That woman looked like a fighter. The way she moved, the lithe muscle she had under that obvious leather armor. All the confidence. He’d seen it when she first came up the stairs; there was this moment where he just knew she was calculating how to take every single one of them out. 

Matt was used to that sort of evaluation. What was interesting was that she never seemed to lose her confidence in her chances. There was no flicker of defeat as she realized she couldn’t fight so many guards. Not at all. She thought she could win, or at least accomplish her goal. And _that_ was pretty damn interesting. 

More concerning, and more immediate, was the looming threat of Belmont’s father. After everything Belmont said, not just to Matt and John but to Ciri as well, that was cause to be more than a little unsettled. 

The guy sounded like a crime lord. Above any laws but his own, and powerful enough to enforce whatever desire he had. 

Personally, Matt tried to keep on the right side of the law for his private sector gigs; being a mercenary who only cared for money was never his style. He had enough contacts in the business to know how working for crime bosses went. He'd heard of the ridiculous money people earned and the even more ridiculous things they were expected to do. He much preferred his eccentric but pretty much vanilla billionaire boss. 

Or that was what he thought so far. It turned out that just because he didn’t have to cover up the drunken shenanigans of a young playboy, he wouldn't get away scot free.

Belmont’s reactions to questions about his father were pretty worrisome too. He saw the way John flinched when Belmont didn’t reassure him about being safe with his father. John had seen something that the conversation reminded him of, and was worried about it. That practically screamed domestic violence. 

What was worse was that there wasn’t a damn thing anyone could do about it. Even if Belmont’s father was an abusive bastard, Belmont had already established that his father was also powerful enough to do whatever he wanted. Hell, Belmont didn’t even seem bothered by the bald statement that he would let his father do anything he pleased. Seemingly up to and including violence. 

In all the time that Matt had worked for Trevor Belmont, he’d never once see the man react in fear. Until tonight, when John mentioned the subject of food. That was an incredibly telling reaction. Whatever private family life Belmont had had growing up, it was starting to look like it was a hell of a lot more twisted than Matt expected. 

It bothered him to know that there was nothing he could do. It sat uneasily on him because he respected Belmont. For the year he’d worked for the man, he'd seen nothing but a respectful, intelligent, genuinely good person. Belmont might have been ruthless in his buyouts, but he helped Castlevania City out of nothing but honest desire to help. He had influence in the city, yes, but Matt hadn’t seen him use that influence beyond securing hospital care for his severely wounded friend. Matt counted himself lucky, being hired to work for such a man. To see him unwilling to fight, to see him giving in, was heartbreaking. He hoped, against all odds, that things wouldn’t turn out as badly as he expected, all the while preparing for the worst. 

Matt already briefed his people to be on their best behavior. They were to avoid any interaction with Belmont’s father other than absolutely necessary, and he put the fear of God into them, again, should any information make it out of the hospital.

His ear piece beeped.

“The south elevator is on the move,” Jeff, the man in charge of watching the cameras, said over the comms. “I… didn’t catch who entered it.”

Matt frowned.

“Replay?”

Jeff hesitated.

“Fuzzy. I can track whoever is in the elevator by the image going snowy, but I can’t _see_ them.”

That unsettled feeling grew inside of Matt. There were no pictures of Belmont’s father. Not ever. 

“On my way.” 

He made sure to have his people in formation in case it wasn’t Belmont’s father. He went to stand in front of the elevator, taking the brunt of the first encounter. Unlike his special ops days, he couldn't just lie in wait in some dark corner. He had to be the welcome committee. He rolled his shoulders, settled the ultra light bullet proof vest better on his body, and made sure to assume as relaxed a position as he could while still keeping his center of gravity low.

The elevator pinged and the door slid open soundlessly.

The man waiting in the middle of the carriage was nothing and everything he expected at once. While not quite as tall as Trevor Belmont, he cut a striking figure nonetheless. Matt’s first impression was big. He had wide shoulders and a wide chest that pulled at his suit just a tad too much. His black hair was shoulder length and was left to fly where it may. It made a striking contrast to his pale face and the dark red eyes. 

He watched Matt with interest.

_Red eyes._

At least they weren’t glowing, Matt consoled himself. But the red irises were only enhanced by the red and gold armored fucking coat spread over the man’s shoulders. He wore a black suit underneath. The material was a touch shiny, catching just enough light to reflect it back and give the impression of being rare and probably expensive as fuck. 

His shirt was black too, some kind of black on black pattern that briefly caught Matt’s eye. He didn’t wear a tie, and the last two buttons of his shirt were open, showing off the strong line of his neck. 

It was such a blatant contrast to what Trevor Belmont usually wore. Trevor tended towards the buttoned up look, and his suits, while elegant, were still mostly conservative in design. Lots of white, blue, and grey in his wardrobe. 

Trevor’s father was flashy as hell. Between the deep black of his attire, the red and gold coat, and the massive multicolored rings sparkling at his fingers, he was obviously all about showing off his wealth and power. 

Something in the way he stood, the way his balance was distributed so well between his feet, told Matt he was a fighter. A well trained one, too. Matt watched as those red eyes swept over him, noted his weapons, then swept over the guards hanging back. Trevor’s father then looked at Josh and Matthew, both of whom sported automatic weapons in plain sight, and very clearly dismissed them all as not a threat.

What the everloving _fuck_.

“Ciri told me that my Son had security waiting,” the man rumbled. His voice was low with a faint accent curling around his words. Nothing that Matt recognized at all. It was a nice voice, unexpectedly quiet and very confident. Like the man didn’t need to shout to be heard…or obeyed. There was also a strange emphasis on the word _son_ that Matt didn’t like. Like there were a million other meanings stuffed into that one word, just out of Matt’s reach.

“Sir,” Matt nodded respectfully. “Mr. Belmont told us to expect you. If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to him.”

“How…prudent of him.” The man let a smirk curl his lips.

Oh, Matt didn’t like how he said that one bit. It implied a whole host of terrible things that could have happened if he was delayed, even by the smallest margins. 

Regardless, Matt was a pro. He knew how to keep what he was thinking off his face. So all he did was take a step back and gesture towards the hallway. 

“This way, sir.”

“How long have you been working for him?” the man asked, walking even with Matt instead of following him.

“I joined up with Mr. Belmont shortly after he went public in Castlevania City last year, while he was helping clean up the Outbreak.” Small talk wasn’t a complete surprise, but it was a little unexpected. Sometimes powerful men didn’t want to bother with it, viewing the hired help as little better than furniture. But sometimes they liked to probe. 

“Hmm.” The sound rumbled low in the man’s throat. “It pleased me to no end to learn he picked apart Zobek’s empire. There’s a kind of poetic justice to that.”

Matt wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he kept silent. He could hear on his earpiece that someone had alerted John. The aide was no doubt already headed into Trevor Belmont and Geralt’s room, giving them the heads up that company was on the way.

Another thing that Matt found profoundly disquieting was how silently the man moved. His clothes didn’t rustle and his steps didn’t squeak or echo on the polished floors.

“While you are here, is there anything we can offer you, or any particular title or name you would prefer we address you as?” Matt asked, as politely as he could. 

So far he hadn’t heard anything about a name. He assumed it was Belmont, but with a person like this Matt wasn’t taking anything for granted. 

“My name is Gabriel Belmont,” the man answered. “Which puts you in the uncomfortable position of having two Belmonts to call at once.”

Matt cast a sideways look at Gabriel Belmont, noting how uniquely unhelpful that answer was. 

“Any preference to how I should call you, sir?”

“Don’t use Gabriel, I don’t like that name.”

The sheer menace in those words made the hair on the back of Matt’s neck prickle. At the same time, he could tell it wasn’t completely directed at him. He swallowed.

“Duly noted, sir.”

It was awkward as hell to think of his boss’s father by anything as personal as a first name, but already it was getting confusing in his head to have two Mr. Belmont’s to answer to. He resolved to never call Gabriel anything but ‘sir’ when speaking to him, and think of him as Belmont Senior.

Prior to this whole event, Matt would have never considered calling his boss, ‘Trevor’, even in the privacy of his own mind. But now with his father around, it seemed like the easiest solution. Anything that saved him a bit of headache would be welcome. 

He’d just have to remember to never say it out loud. Honestly, that wasn’t as difficult as it might seem. He’d been in the army after all. He had learned to keep a whole host of unflattering names about his superiors between his teeth. Thinking of a man by his first name, even his well respected boss, would hardly be a stretch.

Matt was relieved to see that they were at Trevor’s room. Just as he was about to knock on the door, John was already there opening it up from the inside. 

As tempting as it was just to wave Belmont Sr. into the room, his earlier conversation with Trevor still sat uneasily with Matt. Belmont Sr. was a powerful man used to getting his way, it was clear. But even powerful men sometimes hesitated to act poorly in front of witnesses. Matt couldn’t do much to protect his boss in this situation, but he could stay in the room for as long as they would let him. 

It was with that reasoning in mind that Matt led Belmont Sr. into the room, splitting off to stand by the wall as soon as they entered. Being present but invisible was half his job description. A second or two later, John joined him. The two of them shared a quick side-eyed look, and then settled in to watch.

Belmont Sr. walked straight towards Trevor, who was already standing to greet his father.

“Father,” Trevor said quietly, taking a step forward.

Belmont Sr. moved in close, his hands raising to take Trevor’s head in both hands. There was something strange in the way his fingers splayed over the sides of Trevor’s head. His thumbs rested on Trevor’s sharp cheekbones, just under those strange black and gold eyes. There was possessiveness in the gesture, a discomforting sense of ownership that sat like a hard pebble in Matt’s shoe.

“You look horrible,” was what Belmont Sr. said in lieu of greeting.

Trevor’s lips quirked a bit. “I am very tired.”

Matt watched as the thumbs stroked over Trevor’s face, tracing the edge of the dark circles that accumulated there during this whole adventure. He shifted, uneasy again for a reason he couldn’t quite pin down. Maybe it was something about how physically close they were. 

“Geralt?”

“Drugged and recovering. It was a very near thing.” Trevor closed his eyes for a moment, breathing out heavily. It almost looked like he was leaning into Belmont Sr.’s hands, just a little. “It took a very long time for them to sew him back together.”

There was silence between them for a long moment, filled with nothing but that touch that kept persisting.

“It’s good I stayed away then.”

“I’m sorry,” Trevor said, his forehead wrinkling with concern. “It was harsh of me to say. I should have clarified.”

The older man shrugged.

“I knew what you meant,” he said, letting his hands fall from Trevor’s face. “And Ciri threw Eskel at me as a distraction, the cunning thing.”

Trevor just shook his head. “I still cannot believe she did that. I absolutely believe Eskel went along with it, though. How is he?”

The way Trevor asked made Matt start to really wonder about the health and wellbeing of whoever this Eskel character was.

“Ciri took him to get something to eat, I think. He slept. I think Night likes him. She definitely came to visit him.”

The look that Trevor gave his father was one of completely unsurprised exasperation. “So now Night is at the keep, too?”

Belmont Sr. shrugged. 

“Where else was I supposed to put her? Eskel and I needed some fast transport.”

Trevor rubbed his eyes and let his shoulders slump. “You do realize the amount of damage Night can do when unsupervised?”

“It’s fine. Vesemir is there.”

“That man does not deserve Night’s antics. You do know she only acts all sweet and obedient for you, right? Anybody else and she is a terror. Quite literally, too.”

At this point, Matt was thoroughly confused. Was Night their driver? A particularly spoiled one? Or an unstable one?

“Vesemir will deal.” Belmont Sr. waved his son’s concerns off and turned towards the bed with their sleeping patient.

Matt felt extremely bad for Vesemir, whoever he was.

“You invaded the man’s home, you could at least try to be more careful what you do.” Trevor's gently chiding tone of voice actually went a fair way to making Matt feel better about Belmont Sr. being there. There was an ease in how they talked that didn’t have any hint of fear in it.

“He’s welcome to try and stop me,” Belmont Sr. said. He stepped over to the bed and looked down at the sleeping man. That response was not reassuring at all.

Trevor just sighed at his father, clearly not willing to argue the point any longer. 

“Just remember Geralt wouldn’t like it if something happened to his home.”

“Geralt hasn’t complained yet!” Belmont Sr. protested smugly.

“Geralt hasn’t caught on yet,” Trevor corrected.

Did all these people live together on some kind of compound? If they really were a group of monster hunters, per the traditional Belmont family stories, what would that place even look like? Was it just a house? 

The more Matt heard, the more questions he had. Which actually sucked because he knew damn well it wasn’t really his place to ask any of them.

“How long will he be asleep?” Belmont Sr. laid a soft touch on Geralt’s forehead, pushing the hair away to get a better look at the ashen face beneath. His hands looked gentle.

“Hard to say.” Trevor looked pensively at Geralt’s sleeping form. “When the doctors listed off Geralt’s injuries to him, he estimated he’d be active in a couple of days, and recovered in under two weeks. Given that they had to actually unpack his organs, scrub them, and piece them back together, I’m inclined to believe that estimate was optimistic. Based on past injury, I expect him to wake up in half a day, ready to eat out the kitchen.”

“You saved him.” There was so much emotion packed into those three words, such intensity Matt felt uncomfortable just listening to it. The way Belmont Sr. leaned over Geralt, the way he was touching Geralt’s face spoke of close connection. Matt had already assumed that Geralt was at the very least a close friend of his boss, but now he was starting to think Geralt was somebody as important, if not more so, to Trevor’s father, too.

“I wasn’t sure I would be able to. There were…so precious few options left to save him.” The pain and worry in Trevor’s voice was a tangible thing.

“Where’s his pendant?” Belmont Sr. asked. He pulled the blankets covering Geralt away, exposing the heavily bandaged upper body. Lines of stitches were visible under the gauze in some of the less thickly bandaged areas. Damn, the man looked like Frankenstein’s monster with how riddled his body was with sutures.

John hastened over to a set of drawers, and dug around for a moment. 

“Here it is, sir,” John said nervously, as he walked over and held up a small cloth bag. “Everything was removed from him prior to surgery. His, ah, other possessions are all here as well.”

Belmont Sr. reached for the bag. His rings sparkled in the artificial light as he quickly dug into it, pulling out a large metal medallion in the shape of a bristling wolf’s head. That was a serious piece of jewelry; the thing was large enough that it could have completely filled up the palm of Matt’s hand. 

As soon as the bag was out of John’s hand, he retreated back to stand next to Matt. Honestly, Matt couldn’t blame him. Not one little bit.

“It’s strange, seeing him without it.” Belmont Sr. watched the pendent spin in the dim light of the room before leaning over to let it rest on Geralt’s neck.

“Like Eskel in Steingard’s dungeon,” Trevor said quietly, an unhappy frown tugging at his lips. 

“People keep thinking they can take it away from them as a trophy,” Belmont Sr. growled, low and deep in his chest. “And I keep having to teach them the error of their ways.”

For a moment the room seemed a little darker, and Matt held back a shiver. 

Matt knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Belmont Sr. was talking about murder. Whoever caused the damage to Geralt, they were dead already. And judging by the way Belmont Sr. spoke, Matt had no doubt that the deaths were not pretty.

“Hold on to it for now,” Trevor said, motioning to the pendant. “It will only get in the way of all the equipment and dressing changes he will have to go through.”

“I will.” Belmont Sr.’s hands slid away from Geralt and he put the medallion into an inner pocket of his armored coat. Then he turned to look at Trevor.

“Have you eaten yet?”

Matt could feel John stiffen next to him.

Trevor licked his lips. His eyes skidded away from his father to lock first on Matt, and then John. Matt noted that there were several take out boxes and bags on one of the tables near the wall, likely brought in by John some time in the last couple hours. But Trevor didn’t even look at them. 

“Leave. Nobody enters until called in. No exceptions.” Trevor’s voice was firm as he ordered them out.

Belmont Sr.’s eyes were fixed on his son’s face, seemingly forgetting about Matt or John entirely. Matt didn’t like it one bit. There was something supremely creepy about it, but he couldn’t put his finger on it at all.

Matt dragged his feet as long as he could, letting John leave first. He made sure to make eye contact with Trevor on his way out, hoping for some kind of message. A sign that there was something else that Matt should be doing to help other than leaving. There was nothing, though. 

“Just keep everyone away until my Father or I call you in again,” Trevor repeated quietly.

The moment the door shut behind them, Matt and John just looked at each other. It was clear that John was just as worried as Matt was.

“It might be best if we stayed right here,” Matt said quietly. “Just in case they need anything.”

“Yes,” John said, seizing on the idea with eagerness. “Just in case.”

There was a moment of silence. A thousand questions weighed down on Matt’s tongue. But he remembered what his boss said. Not a whisper outside of that room about anything that happened in it.

John, it seemed, was thinking of the same thing, because he promptly whipped out his phone and started tapping away. Matt had just resigned himself to the silence, when John tapped on his arm and showed him the screen of his phone.

On it was a note program with a short message typed into it.

_Is it just me, or is creepy guy really, really creepy?_

Matt took the phone from him and typed out his own message.

_10/10 would not want to meet him in a dark alley. He knew we were armed and it didn’t make an impression on him at all. _

John took the phone back, read the message, and winced. Then he started typing again.

_Did you catch the part about dungeons? I get the feeling they weren’t talking about a club_.

Matt quickly typed back, _Yes I did and no they weren’t. I bet whoever did that number on Geralt, is no longer among the living. That creepy guy sounded way too satisfied when he spoke about teaching people the errors of their ways_

At that, John just nodded, eyes wide. Then he thought for a moment, typed, and passed the phone back.

_So. I’ve got concerns about boss’s...health and wellbeing in there. Don’t know what we can do though. Ideas?_

The sad truth was, they couldn’t do anything until Trevor asked for help.

Matt frowned and slowly typed out his response.

_All we can do is try and keep the creepy guy happy. Let’s not add to boss’s troubles if we can._

John looked crushed for a moment, but nodded. He shook it off quickly though. Matt had noticed that about the man; he was very quick to adapt. Smart, and good at handling several important projects at once.

After a moment of thought, John typed at his phone as passed it over.

_By chance, have you ever used a combat cross?_

Matt looked at John incredulously and didn’t even bother typing out his response.

John just flailed a little and added a bit more on the message.

_Look, you cannot tell me that this didn’t cross your mind at least once in the past 24 hours. You saw what Ciri had. You think they’re door to door salesmen in their free time, armed like that?_

He raised his eyebrows at Matt.

Matt took the phone away from John and typed in with quick fingers.

_Automatic weapons, incendiary rounds, flamethrowers all work great. Why use antiquated weaponry?_

John just raised an eyebrow at him as he typed a response.

_We should ask Ciri next time we see her. Or Geralt when he wakes, because he had two swords on him, both were so damn heavy that I could barely lift them. One was solid silver._

Matt considered this, and also considered the scars on Geralt he saw during the few moments he’d had to watch him.

_Personal preference? Habit? Some kind of gang or sect thing? _

That made John pause for a moment. Then he looked up at Matt speculatively. He typed up something real quick and shoved the phone back to Matt.

_I’ll look into it._

Matt wanted to tell him to be discreet about it, but held his tongue and simply nodded. John was good at his job; he didn't need Matt telling him how to do it. He just nodded instead. This night was a long string of one revelation after another and whatever Matt thought he knew about his boss was turned on his head. He had no doubt it was similar for John. 

John held up his phone again.

_Thanks for sticking in there with me. I didn’t want to leave them alone._

_Me neither_, Matt typed back. 

_Now for the worst part of the job. Waiting_, John responded.

It was so much worse than any shootout, just standing there, waiting to see what would happen next. Wondering who would come out of the room, if anyone did. Waiting and planning for all the possible ways to limit damage. God knew that Matt knew enough about the atrocities people committed that his imagination was painting one horrible scenario after another for him. The only bright side was that if he knew about a possibility, it was something he could make a contingency plan for. Even if he prayed that he wouldn’t need to use any of them.

\--


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes from Quarra: There is a song in this chapter. They lyrics are listed, but if you want to listen to it. Here is the link! The song is from the Witcher 3, and it's called [Lullaby of Woe.](https://youtu.be/JFUsPfuwjpw)
> 
> I...may actually have all the words to this memorized now.
> 
> Also, here is where we start to see some divergence with traditional witcher canon. We modified things to suit us, and it comes up a bit in discussion. No _major_ changes, though.

Dracula listened with amusement as Alucard’s servants stationed themselves outside the door. 

“It seems you’ve chosen your underlings well,” he said quietly, careful not to let his voice carry. The mortals outside didn’t need to hear what they spoke of in here. 

“Thank you,” Alucard said, matching his soft tone. “They’ve been an immeasurable help. Especially today.” 

For all that his son was keeping the conversation light, Dracula could see how Alucard’s eyes followed the line of his neck. How he left his lips slightly parted. 

The time spell he’d cast on Geralt must have been extremely taxing. Alucard was hungry in a way that Dracula had rarely ever seen him. His skin looked grey to Dracula’s keen sight. Only the dim, warm light of the room kept him looking mostly human. The eyes, though, those were a big tip off. They were nearly glowing in the soft lamplight.

Dracula stepped over into Alucard’s space and traced his thumb over Alucard’s jaw. 

“They are afraid of me.” 

Alucard just snorted. “Because they are sane.”

_Beautiful_, Dracula thought, and let his thumb rub over Alucard’s lower lip. It was so plush and wet. Alucard’s heart picked up, and his breath stuttered. Alucard’s reaction, that there was a reaction at all, never failed to bring a rush to Dracula.

“They are afraid for your sake more than their own. You never fail to inspire loyalty.” Pride welled up inside Dracula’s chest. Even when they were at odds, Alucard had always made him proud.

“It’s a strange thing, to have people. I’m not…used to that.”

That was a sentiment that Dracula felt especially sympathetic to right at this moment. The way Eskel had fearlessly walked through his fire, came to him, wrapped around him. Offered himself. It stirred things inside of Dracula that he’d thought long dead.

“It is very strange not to be alone,” Dracula said after a moment.

Alucard shifted towards him, his eyes bright with hunger. He was close enough now that Dracula could feel Alucard’s presence along his flank, the gentle pressure of his body not quite touching. It felt cold. What little warmth that used to be there had melted into the exhaustion that obviously was dragging at him.

“I want to drink from you,” Alucard murmured. His lips just barely moved under the thumb Dracula still had over them. The breath of those words fanned over Dracula’s skin and he couldn’t stop a shiver of appreciation. He loved that Alucard asked for it this time. Maybe more than he was willing to admit.

A slow smile tugged at Dracula’s mouth as satisfaction curled up inside of him, and he pulled Alucard’s body a little closer. “I would like that very much.”

With regret, Dracula took his hand away from Alucard’s face, reluctant to lose even that bit of contact. He shrugged his red coat off his shoulders and caught the heavy, armored fabric before it hit the ground.

“I can’t believe you wore this,” Alucard said quietly. “Poor John had no idea what to think of your choice of wardrobe. I think the coat was enough to terrify him.”

“I like my coat,” Dracula defended. 

He turned to Geralt and spread it over the sleeping witcher. There were so many bandages and fresh stitches that Dracula didn’t dare touch him, but he could give Geralt something that held Dracula’s scent. With how sensitive the witcher's sense of smell was, he was sure Geralt would feel his presence that way.

There was a faint stirring as Geralt took a slightly deeper breath in. He turned his head just a little and made a sleepy nudge closer to the coat collar tucked in around his shoulders. Then he sighed softly and settled back down further into sleep.

“He recognized your scent and relaxed,” Alucard said, sounding touched.

“Yes.” Dracula didn’t even bother pretending it didn’t make him happy.

Dracula got rid of the suit jacket next. The black garment ended up draped over a small table nearby. He didn’t pay much attention to it; where his clothing ended up didn’t matter. Catching Alucard’s eyes as he started slowly unbuttoning his shirt was far more important.

“Aren’t you afraid of messing up your clothes?” Dracula asked, enjoying the way Alucard’s eyes followed his fingers’ progress, button by button.

It seemed to take Alucard a moment to process the question; he was too caught up in Dracula’s slow stripping. Finally he licked his lips again and said, “I suppose two suits covered in blood in one day is too much.”

“Pity,” Dracula said with a smirk. He wouldn’t be opposed at all to that particular scene. On the other hand, getting some bare skin to touch while Alucard fed on him would be _nice_.

Dracula pulled his shirt out of his pants and finished unbuttoning it, letting it fall open to show off his chest.

Alucard didn’t make him wait long. He discarded his suit jacket and tossed it to hang over some piece of furniture or other. To Dracula’s intense pleasure, he noticed that Alucard wasn’t paying any attention to where he threw the clothes either; his eyes were focused on Dracula. 

“Open your shirt,” Dracula said as he headed over to the couch that sat opposite Geralt’s bed. “I want to see your skin.”

It only took a moment for Alucard to work open the knot of his tie. That got tossed somewhere behind him as well. Then he stalked forward, swiftly unbuttoning his fine shirt. Those lovely, clever hands worked quickly and efficiently. Dracula was so caught up in watching them that he nearly missed how close Alucard had gotten. 

By the time he looked up, Alucard was pushing him down onto the couch and straddling him.

“So demanding today,” Dracula purred, pleased to be manhandled by his usually reticent son. “Do you want me to open up a vein, or would you prefer to do it yourself today?” 

He put his hands on those slim hips and reveled in the feeling of Alucard’s tall body shifting over him. Alucard wasn’t shy about putting his weight on Dracula. That was all right, Dracula could take it. He could take whatever Alucard dished out and more.

“I want to bite you,” Alucard said, his voice breathy. “I want to feel your flesh part beneath my teeth.” 

As he spoke, his eyes nearly glowed with hunger, as beautiful as shining gems. He ran his hands down Dracula’s chest, slowly, scraping across the skin with his nails and leaving white trails in his wake. 

Dracula leaned back, resting his head on the back of the couch and let Alucard see all the flesh he had available for biting.

“Do you want my neck or my chest?” With Dracula’s blood, it was never about the quantity of it. Even one sip could be packed with enough power to burn lesser creatures to ashes. Alucard could take his power though, could take it and subvert it, make it _his_.

He could see how Alucard’s fangs sharpened and grew, how he panted just a tiny bit through his teeth. 

“Both,” Alucard whispered. He clenched one hand into a fist, clearly trying to master himself.

Dracula laughed, sliding his hands higher, until they slipped under the open shirt and traced Alucard’s muscular sides. He liked to feel the way the muscles flexed there, the way Alucard’s ribs moved with every breath he took. 

“Dinner is served,” Dracula murmured.

“I am so angry and…” Alucard shook his head a bit, and then went back to staring at Dracula’s bared skin. “Afraid. And hungry. I am better controlled than this.”

“Afraid of what? Me?”

“Afraid that we would lose him. That I wouldn’t be enough.” Alucard dropped his gaze. “That his death would mean I would lose you, too.”

“You won’t lose me,” Dracula promised. “I am immortal and I will be here for you always.”

“There are more ways to lose than just to Death’s grasp. You were lost to rage once. I would not, could not stand by to watch it happen again.” Now Alucard’s face twisted in pain, and each word came out like he was spitting knives, rough and low. 

“I had nothing but rage then. Only eternal life and rage to carry me through it.” Dracula ached to comfort his son in some way, but comfort wasn’t something he was particularly good at. He struggled silently, trying to find the right words. “It’s different now.” 

He grabbed ahold of Alucard’s hands and pressed them to his chest, over his heart. “Don’t think of could-have-beens and might-have-beens. Those are the terrors that haunt a foolish man, terrors that have not happened yet or did already. There’s no use torturing yourself over things you can not change or things that may never come to pass.”

Alucard nodded, dropping his eyes.

“Were you ever afraid of me?” Dracula asked, curious.

“No, but I was afraid of what being loved by you means.” Alucard pressed his hands right where Dracula’s heart beat strong and steady. Eternal. “You love without reason, without limits. It’s terrifying. It’s even more terrifying to bear responsibility for what that love may make you do.”

“You can not be held accountable for actions of other people,” Dracula rumbled. “Have I became so unpalatable, really?”

Alucard laughed, quiet and dry like autumn leaves.

“It’s not the demon part of you that loves like that. It’s the human.” Alucard shifted, meeting Dracula’s eyes. “It’s always been the human part of you, hasn’t it?” Alucard closed his eyes. His weight was heavy on Dracula’s legs. Solid. _Real_. “It took me a long time to realize this.”

“I don’t know any other way to love,” Dracula said. He lifted his hand high enough to tangle the fingers into Alucard’s messy hair.

“It is part of your charm. Your passion is as powerful and alluring as as it is terrifying.” Alucard leaned forward and slid his hands up to hold onto Dracula’s shoulders.

“Charm, you say.” An edge of a laugh still rumbled in Dracula’s throat as he pulled Alucard lower by the grip he had on his hair. “Drink from me.” Dracula stretched his neck again, offering it. “Take what you need from me.”

“Yes,” Alucard said, his voice low and rough. He didn’t hesitate like he usually did. Nor was he gentle. He laced one hand through Dracula’s hair and bit down on his neck, fierce and powerful.

Dracula hissed at the sensation of fangs going in, breaking through skin and muscle to reach a vein. The pain wasn’t an issue; he could deal with much more of it effortlessly. But the sensation of it…it was _so much_. There was the burn of satisfaction spreading through his body, welling up from the knowledge that it was his blood Alucard needed. That Dracula’s presence was both helpful and desired at the same time. 

The moment Alucard’s fangs broke the skin, a rush of desire spread over Dracula’s body, fighting for dominion over the satisfaction. It burned like a wave of molten lava filling his veins, raising his lust and his hunger. He _wanted_. He wanted everything. Wanted Alucard to bite deeper, drink more. Wanted to turn them over and fuck Alucard while he drank. Wanted to bite him and drink from him too, to feel what Alucard felt in that moment and experience everything his son was. 

He limited himself to urging Alucard on, pressing Alucard’s head harder to the bite. Dracula’s cock was hard already, tightly pinned inside the fabric of his slacks, and he pressed that against Alucard too, letting him feel how he affected Dracula.

Alucard made a hungry little whine, and bit again, harder and messier this time. He worried the wound into opening further and drank greedily, making Dracula hiss at the sensation. The pain-pleasure of it and the pull on his power. Dracula thrust up again and there was Alucard’s hand, pressing against his trapped cock, rubbing him harshly in time with his greedy swallows.

Feeling his normally careful and cautious son lose control was as heady as any drug. 

“Yes,” Dracula urged. “Take it. Take as much as you want.” 

He tilted his head back further, giving Alucard space to bite again and again. Hungry little growls escaped Alucard’s mouth as he all but savaged Dracula’s neck. 

It felt so _good_. 

The power exchange. The way he could feel Alucard drawing on him. The desire and unheeded want. The hand on his cock, and Alucard’s scent all around him. Dracula loved every moment of it. 

It took everything he had to hold himself still, to let Alucard take it all. The rough hands and teeth on him drove him nearly out of his mind.

Alucard’s lips slid against his neck, over skin and blood, cool and smooth. It was just a soft rub, a quick little nuzzle before he bit in again, digging a ragged wound into the crook between Dracula’s neck and shoulder. The wound would bleed less there, but there was more meat to bite on, more flesh to really sink in those fangs into. He bit again, over and over, and a wild, untamed growl left him at each one. 

In between bites, he sucked hard at the wounds, drinking in whatever blood he managed to spill. He pulled away from time to time just to lick the skin clean, before he sank his teeth somewhere else, penetrating as deep as he could. 

Such attentions would be horrifically painful for a human, but Dracula reveled in the feeling of Alucard letting himself feed. The pull of blood and power was unbelievably pleasurable, and he was enjoying every second of it. Alucard’s hand rubbed harshly on Dracula’s cock in time with his drinking, bringing him pleasure and that much closer to orgasm. 

The frenzy wasn’t sustainable, though, no matter how much Dracula delighted in Alucard’s heedless chase after what he wanted. Far, far sooner than Dracula wanted, Alucard’s drinking slowed and the hand on his cock gentled. The fangs drew out of Dracula’s neck, but rather than licking around the already healing wounds, Alucard just rested his forehead on Dracula’s shoulder and panted. Each breath was harsh and heavy, tickling against the wet skin there. 

Dracula knew that Alucard must have been exhausted. Holding any spell for an extended period of time was impressive, but Alucard must have kept his spell on Geralt going for hours on end. 

They’d have time later for a continuation, if Alucard wanted it. For the moment, Dracula ran his hands over Alucard’s body. Up and down his back, over his hip, offering him the touch he knew his son would crave. Despite the lack of release, Dracula couldn’t be more pleased. It was so rare that Alucard took what he needed, and Dracula was happy to provide. 

He reached down, slipping his fingers into the front of Alucard’s pants. Dracula could feel how hard Alucard was, and noted the way he twitched his hips forward ever so slightly in time with his heavy breaths. 

Dracula turned his head to brush his lips against Alucard’s ear. “Shall I finish you off?” he whispered. “Take your hot, needy cock in my hand. You’re so close already. I could make you come all over my hand and stomach, get your scent on me, and then lick it off my fingers.”

The low, needy groan was answer enough, and the shudder that ran through Alucard’s body was an added bonus. It only took a moment to work open his belt and pants, and then Dracula was easing his slacks down. Not too far. Just enough that Alucard’s heavy cock sprung free from the well fitted clothing it had been trapped in.

It was heaven to wrap his hand around that pulsing length. To feel the smooth, soft skin under his hand. He knew it would be a bit of an abrasive slide. There was no slick to ease the way and Dracula’s hands were those of a fighter, callused and rough. But he also knew how much Alucard liked that little bit of pain mixed in. 

Every time he stroked his thumb over the glans, the sword callus there caught right on the leaking slit, and Alucard jerked in place. He huddled over Dracula. One hand was still clutched tightly in Dracula’s hair, but the other dug into Dracula’s shoulder, kneading into the flesh with every stroke. His hair fell over them both, wild and full, shielding Alucard’s face from view. But Dracula could feel how those light breaths on his neck got stronger. He could hear each tiny, little wrecked moan, every soft whine, as Alucard’s cock twitched hard in his hand. The scent of his own blood mixed in with Alucard’s unique smell of frost and fur, and Dracula drank it in.

“That’s right,” Dracula said, coaxing the pleasure out of him. “Let go. Give it to me.” 

He sped up his hand, and Alucard bit down again on Dracula’s shoulder. This time he didn’t break the skin, though. He just used the flesh there as a method to stifle his own moans as he trembled and jerked in place. 

“Come for me.”

The bite on his shoulder deepened for a moment as Alucard’s body locked up, his cock spurting come all over Dracula’s stomach and chest. He let out a low, almost pained sigh as Dracula worked him through it, wringing every last drop out of his cock.

When he finally came to a shuddering stop, Dracula just held him. He loved how Alucard’s cock twitched in his hand. Loved the heat of it, the softness of the skin, the _life_ of it. If he kept working him, relishing the softness of the skin, Dracula knew he could get Alucard hard again in almost no time at all. He could feel the potential in how shuddery Alucard’s breathing was, in how his hips twitched and flexed at every little touch. But that wasn’t what was needed here. 

Alucard had needed to feed. More than that, he needed relief. A safe outlet for his frustrations. Now that this was done, Dracula could see the exhaustion starting to weigh on him again.

Before Alucard could slide right down into all the come that was now spread across Dracula’s chest, Dracula eased him over onto his side on the couch. Those lovely, blown golden eyes watched him beneath a veil of white hair. Alucard’s lips were stained red with blood and his cheeks held a healthy pink glow.

With loose, uncoordinated arms, Alucard held on to Dracula, trying to urge him closer so they could press their bodies together.

“I need to clean up first,” Dracula said, unable to stop himself from teasing just a little bit.

A pleased smile stretched across Dracula’s face as he brought his hand up to his mouth and licked Alucard’s release off of his palm and fingers. Savoring it. He loved the way Alucard tasted, his blood, his come, the sweat on his skin. Once his hand was clean, he wiped up the come off of his chest and licked that off, too. He swallowed it all down, pleased in the knowledge that Alucard’s scent would still be on him for a while, even after he’d licked the mess clean.

The whole while he kept his eyes locked with Alucard’s. The way the breath caught in Alucard’s lungs, the way his heart pounded in the quiet of the room, and the way his eyes followed Dracula’s tongue, it all served to light that vicious fire of satisfaction deep inside Dracula. Driving his son to weakness with pleasure was one of Dracula’s favorite activities. 

By the time he was done wiping up every last drop of come and licking it clean, he knew the wounds on his neck were fully healed, too. There probably wasn’t much blood left on them; Alucard had been too thorough with his licking and sucking. It was almost a pity. He liked that Alucard had bitten so deeply into him, and drank so heavily. He would have loved to bear some marks to prove it.

“Almost done,” he rumbled quietly, and then leaned down to take Alucard’s soft cock into his mouth. Alucard arched up under him, and stifled a gasp as Dracula quickly sucked it clean. It was so warm and slick in his mouth, and there was a terrible rush of power from knowing that Alucard allowed Dracula to do this. To let Dracula use his mouth, which could so easily rend and tear, on his sensitive flesh. 

One, then two full swallows up and down that vulnerable length were enough to get the last traces of come off of it. That brief action wasn’t nearly enough to get Alucard hard again, but it was enough to make him writhe in pleasure for a moment. His hands dug into Dracula’s shoulders, and his breath came out in wet little gasps. 

Dracula pulled up and carefully tucked Alucard back into his slacks, zipped them up, and buckled the belt over it. 

“Good as new.” Dracula hummed in satisfaction, and pulled Alucard close. 

He arranged them so that Alucard was curled up in his lap. It was tempting to just lay them both down, but Dracula couldn’t escape the nagging need to keep Geralt in sight. That meant that Dracula at least had to be sitting upright. 

Alucard burrowed into Dracula’s warmth, with his arms curled around Dracula’s body and mouth at Dracula’s neck. But instead of the happy little sounds he usually made post-feeding, Alucard trembled in place. A small, breathy whine escaped him, and Dracula held him tighter. 

Feeding on Dracula’s powerful blood got Alucard higher than a kite. It made him sleepy and cuddly, seeking out more warmth and the comfort of close touch. But the events of the day clearly had left Alucard still distressed, despite those effects. 

Dracula urged him closer, tucking Alucard’s head under his chin and trying to wrap his shirt around Alucard’s body as much as possible. His coat would have been better for the job, but he couldn’t deny Geralt the comfort of it.

As Alucard slowly quieted next to him and drifted off to sleep, Dracula brooded. 

It was difficult to see Geralt so injured. Rage still roiled inside of Dracula, banked for the moment, but ever-present. He tried to remind himself that Geralt would live and that was what was important. But he couldn’t help but save up cold fury for whoever was truly responsible for this. The immediate perpetrators had been punished, but soon enough he’d know who was giving the orders.

Soon enough there would be another round of death and burning.

Until then, Dracula could wait. It was easier now that he knew Geralt would live. That he would remain human and unchanged. For all Dracula’s promises to change Geralt into a vampire should he die, that wasn’t something he was eager to actually do. He didn’t want Geralt to change. Becoming a demon could kill the love and the goodness in Geralt and Dracula didn’t want that to happen, ever. 

It was easier still to rest, to wait, when he could see Geralt in front of him, and with Alucard wrapped around him. Their scents mingled in the room; Dracula’s own fire and darkness mixed with Alucard’s frost and fur scent and Geralt’s herbal and silver taste. Layered over it was the scent of Geralt’s pain and all the medicines they’d used on his wounds. That pain made Dracula want to bare his teeth. It set something on edge inside of him. Still. It was enough that the three of them were together. 

A few hours passed as Dracula watched over them. He could hear the occasional nurse try to get into the room, but Alucard’s servants sent them away. 

They were good servants; Dracula would have to remember that.

Eventually, Geralt’s breathing picked up and his eyes fluttered a bit. He would wake soon. Alucard was still deeply asleep, though. He’d taxed himself a great deal already, so Dracula was loath to wake him up. 

Slowly, he eased Alucard around to lay on the couch. Dracula spied his own suit jacket, and lay it over him, hoping that the scent of it would soothe him as the scent on his armored coat had soothed Geralt.

Whatever blood was left on his neck, he reabsorbed into his skin. After all the work Alucard had done securing his identity here, it would be a shame to ruin it with some casual bloodstains. 

With those matters all settled, he headed over to the door. It was time to scare up a doctor. Perhaps get Geralt’s bandages changed. From the smell of them, it was time for them to be checked anyways.

\--

Matt stood guard outside Geralt’s room and was incredibly grateful that he’d had the forethought to take a sleep shift while Geralt was in surgery. He knew that, at least for _his_ job, the more complicated stuff would happen once they were settled in a room. Doctors and nurses would be in and out at all hours. The longer they were in one place, the more reporters and other types of attention seekers would try to get in, too. 

So personally keeping a close watch on Geralt’s door was something he still had energy for. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust his people to do it. It was that Belmont Sr. gave him the creepy crawlies, and he was particularly worried about his boss being alone with him.

He knew John felt the same way, although the younger man had long since given up the fight against sleep. Understandable, since he’d been running around non stop since this whole affair started. Rather than taking one of the extra beds on the floor, John had simply pulled up a chair next to where Matt stood outside the door, curled up with a pillow, and passed out. 

While he waited, Matt couldn’t help but run through different scenarios in his head. What if’s. It paid to be prepared, after all. But now ideas he previously thought of as outlandish and impossible flooded his brain, and he suddenly found himself making contingency plans just to keep calm and occupied.

There wasn’t much he could do if any low-key abuse was happening. Belmont Sr. clearly had been getting away with whatever he was doing for a long, long time, and as long as Trevor put up with it, there was nothing to do. If there were visible wounds, or something happened in front of him, Matt could bring it up to his boss. Escape routes and safe house locations ran through his head. That would be a harder route to follow through with and he considered it pretty unlikely scenario in general, but it made him feel better to think about all of his options. 

Then there was the stuff John had insinuated. What did Ciri and Geralt use their swords for? Infected? Other types of monsters? Did other types of monsters even exist? Legend said they did, but Matt had always looked at that with a certain amount of rational scepticism. Was that something that Matt would have to prepare for now?

The door opened behind him with enough violence to make him jump and spin around. As soon as he caught sight of who was in the doorway his heart skipped a beat. It was Belmont Sr., looking much different from when Matt had last seen him. His coat and suit jacket had been discarded and his black shirt was hanging open exposing a pale and very fit chest. A quick glance at the muscle definition told Matt it was a fighter’s body rather than the product of gym time. Belmont Sr.’s eyes seemed more red in the light, almost glowing as he locked his eyes on Matt.

“Get a doctor,” he ordered.

Matt’s heart slammed in his chest and he felt the blood drain out of his face. Suddenly all those wildly unrealistic worst case scenarios didn’t seem so far fetched. 

“Nurse,” Matt called off to the side. The medical staff had been hovering around since the last check up he’d brushed off. Waiting to be let in with great displeasure. “Call up the doctor.”

The nurse hurried over to the nurse’s station and got on the phone. Two others came over immediately, clearly expecting to be let in.

Matt never took his eyes off of Belmont Senior. It was always a bad idea to take eyes off of the most dangerous person in the room, and right that moment, Matt had no illusions on who that was. “What’s wrong?”

Belmont Sr. raised his eyebrows slightly, clearly reading Matt with more ease than Matt was strictly comfortable with.

“Geralt is stirring. Looks like he’s going to wake up any moment.” The voice was low and a little raspy. The accent intrigued Matt again, mostly because he couldn’t for the life of him place it and he was good with languages.

A rush of relief went through Matt, though he tried very hard not to show it. He nudged John awake. No doubt the boss would want him to keep track of things.

The nurses hovered awkwardly at the door, both clearly itching to get to work. “May we come in?” one finally asked.

Belmont Sr. stepped back and away, heading into the room once again and leaving the door open behind him.

Matt noted how Belmont Sr. didn’t seem bothered by being bare chested in front of so many people, not did he seem react in any way to the few interested glances he got from the nurses passing him by. Maybe it was really warm where he normally lived, and so an open shirt was more common than here. 

That didn’t seem likely.

By the time the nurses had filed in, John had shaken himself awake and was straightening up his tie. They shared a quick look, and then both headed in.

What Matt saw when he walked in made his eyes go wide with surprise. Bits of clothes were strewn all across the room and Belmont Sr.’s ostentatious armored red coat was draped across Geralt. Trevor’s suit jacket and tie were tossed across one of the tables. 

Trevor himself lay down on the couch, cuddled up inside of Belmont Sr.’s suit jacket. He was curled on his side, and his shirt was obviously open under the black jacket spread over him. Matt could just barely see the edge of some kind of scarring on his chest. From the look of his position, it was clear that he hadn’t been sitting on that couch alone, either. 

Matt almost disregarded the odd casualness of the scene. Okay, so it was sort of weird that both father and son somehow ended up with their shirts unbuttoned, but maybe there was some cultural thing that Matt was missing here. And it wasn’t that surprising that Trevor was asleep on the couch. He’d been up for probably more than twenty-four hours dealing with the whole mess.

Then Matt noticed that there was just a touch of red on Trevor’s lips. 

Blood. It had to be. There was food in the room, but nothing that would have stained Trevor’s lips so red, or he didn’t think so, anyways. Trevor never carried candy sweets with him, nothing that would stain his lips. Besides, Matt had seen enough men cough up their own blood that he knew what it looked like when a bit stained the lips.

A myriad of possibilities raced through Matt’s head. Was his boss sick? Seemed possible, what with the lack of eating. He didn’t know enough about diseases to know what might cause such a thing. 

What seemed more likely was that Belmont Sr. had a fit of temper and knocked his son around a bit. It was easy to split a lip on a tooth. If hit right, the bruising wouldn’t even really show. A knock to the head wouldn’t even show if the wound was under a mane of hair like Trevor had. Maybe that was why Trevor kept it so long. Habit.

Matt made an instinctive step towards his boss, driven by the need to make sure his charge was okay. He didn’t get farther than a step when a sharp command stopped him in his tracks.

“_Don’t touch him_,” Belmont Sr. was looking at Matt again. The words cut through the quiet muttering of the nurses and they all froze to stare at him.

His attention was a heavy thing. The focus of it was sharp enough that Matt could feel the small hairs at the back of his neck raise up under the scrutiny.

Once the medical staff realized Belmont Sr. wasn’t even looking at them, they hesitantly resumed their actions. One nurse worked on replacing the fluid bags while another started checking vital signs. 

Matt swallowed, and took a step back. He wanted to go look at Trevor to see if there was anything he could do. But something in the back of his brain was screaming at him to not take his eyes off of Belmont Sr.. There was such controlled menace in that gaze, almost like a rattlesnake coiled and ready to strike, that it made him want to check his weapons.

He didn’t do anything of the sort. That would have been both massively unprofessional and an incredibly bad idea. It was never a good plan to let someone know that they’d gotten under the skin. Better to be as calm and collected as possible, and wait for his opportunity to act. 

Movement over on the bed distracted him. One of the nurses had a hand on that armored coat, trying to pull it off, Matt assumed. But Geralt had made a grab for it, holding it tight to his chest.

“No,” Geralt mumbled, his eyes barely cracked open. Sure enough, they were brilliant yellow, though Matt couldn’t quite see enough of them to see if they really were vertical pupil like a cat’s. Given how weird Trevor’s eyes were, he had to assume they were, just as Ciri had said. 

The doctors must have been having a field day with that little bit of biology. Then there was the fact that even half-conscious and three-quarters dead, even two nurses were unable to pry the coat away from him. He seemed stronger than both of them and Matt could see from where he was standing that Geralt wasn’t putting that much effort into holding on.

Belmont Sr. sighed and went to the bed.

“Geralt,” he said in that dark voice of his. 

“Hmm?” Geralt blinked up at him.

“Give me back my coat.” Belmont Sr. reached to take the item. Matt wondered how heavy it was, with all the metal added to it.

A little bit more clarity came to Geralt’s eyes, and he let go of his hold. With that clarity came the obvious stubbornness, based on the look on his face. Geralt blinked again and deflated a little. “Smells nice.” Then he paused, and took an obvious sniff. The look he gave Belmont Sr. was almost petulant, his eyes wide and betrayed. “You couldn’t even wait for me to be awake to watch?”

“Mostly dead things don’t do it for me,” Belmont Sr. said flatly. 

What the fuck he was talking about, Matt had no idea. But apparently that response made sense to Geralt, because he huffed out a short laugh, and then winced hard.

“Three-quarters dead at most,” Geralt said petulantly, but he was letting the nurses start cutting the gauze off of his wounds to expose the extensive stitching that seemed to cover most of his chest and belly, as well as arms. Basically everything that Matt could see was cut into, one way or the other. Damn, that man looked like a collection of badly matched patches on a quilt rather than a human, what with all the post surgery bruising showing up already.

Geralt didn’t even bother watching them work. He just looked up to Belmont Sr.. 

“I’m glad to see you,” he said quietly, his voice rough and low.

There was a hell of a lot packed into that phrase, and Matt caught himself sharing a sideways glance with John.

“I’m glad you are alive,” Belmont Sr. said, his voice going shockingly soft.

Geralt reached up for him, though his hand shook. He didn’t lift it far, though. Honestly, Matt was damn surprised he could move at all. There were a hell of a lot of removable splints on him, including one on his arm. Before his hand could fall back to the bed, Belmont Sr. had taken hold of it, cradling it in his own.

“We need to call in a doctor,” one of the nurses said after examining the stitches. “I don’t know how it’s possible but the skin is already starting to grow in around some of the stitches. They need to be removed already.”

Now Geralt finally looked down at his arms and chest. He grimaced a little. “Ug. This is why I never use stitches. Pain in the ass to cut them all out again.”

“You never use bandages, either,” Belmont Sr. said with mild irritation. “You usually don’t need them. And then you end up with a completely new set of scars we have to get rid of.” He paused. “Again.”

“I don’t know what you have against my scars. They are like a badge of honor on my skin,” Geralt said with mock offense. 

“Only you are running out of skin to mark.” This seemed like an old argument, with both of them repeating the lines like it was familiar and well rehearsed.

The hell did this guy get into in his spare time if this was normal?

Even that little bit of banter seemed to wear Geralt out. He closed his eyes and sank a little into his pillow with a sigh. “Pain killer is kind of great. I don’t like how it makes my head feel, though. It’s harder to think. Seems like a lot of work for very little reward.”

“What’s a lot of work?” Belmont Sr. asked.

“Taking pain killer. Gods, the potency I’d have to make just to get it to work. And then I wouldn’t even be able to fight afterwards. Easier just to deal with the pain and keep going.”

If Matt wasn’t concerned before, he really was now. All the injuries they were hinting at and still this guy would just keep going? Sure, there were times in a fight where adrenaline got a man through, and then only later he realized he was walking on broken legs. But this…this sounded a lot more long term than that. Like Geralt would regularly just shrug off massive injury and go about his day.

“I kind of like that it’s keeping you down for the count,” Belmont Sr. said ruthlessly. “I don’t have to rely on you staying in bed and behaving nicely. Knocking you out seems so much more efficient.”

Geralt’s lips quirked up into a smile. 

Before he could answer, though, one of the doctors came in. Dr. Miller, the head surgeon in charge of Geralt’s case.

“Good morning, Geralt,” Dr. Miller said, and immediately went over to take a look at what the nurses were doing. “I’m both surprised and completely unsurprised that you’re awake already. How are you feeling?”

“Fuzzy in the head. I’m not sure I like the pain killers.” Geralt opened his eyes to look blearily at the doctor.

“We can cut them down a little bit, if you really want, but I’d advise you to keep on the most effective dose. Mr. Belmont was correct in saying that you’ll heal better if you aren’t stressing out your body with pain.” The doctor looked around the room, seeming to notice Belmont Sr., Matt, and John. He frowned. “You,” he pointed to John, “I know are allowed to stay here while we discuss matters with our patient. The rest of you I don’t know.” He looked to Geralt, eyebrow raised. “You want them out or in?”

Geralt pressed his lips together, holding back a grin, and glanced up to Belmont Sr.. “He can stay. The other one…”

The look he leveled at Matt was far more intense than what a nearly dead guy should have been able to dish out. Matt could see Geralt noticing his build, his relaxed but prepared stance, and every place he was hiding a weapon. If Matt wasn’t convinced before that this guy was an experienced fighter, he was now.

“Guard, huh,” Geralt said. “Trevor’s. You just a grunt, or are you in charge?”

“Mr. Snow is Mr. Belmont’s head of security,” John interjected. “He and I have similar levels of information clearance.”

“I always hated bodyguarding gigs,” Geralt sighed. “Boring, and it’s always for some rich asshole who probably deserves to get punched in the face.”

Matt held back a snort of amusement, because yeah, that was often the case. He did smirk though. John was right, there really was a resemblance between Geralt and Ciri. The ballsy irreverence was unmistakable. “I’m lucky to be in the employ of someone as sensible and even tempered as Mr. Belmont.”

“Stay,” Geralt said with a tiny tilt of his head. “Just take a seat. The looming is annoying. I keep wanting to go for my knives, and then remembering that I don’t have them. Which, speaking of…” He looked up hopefully to Belmont Sr..

“But only one,” Belmont Sr. sighed and flicked his wrist, producing a dark, matte throwing blade he passed to Geralt like it was as normal as passing a handkerchief. Where the fuck he even pulled that out of, Matt had no damn idea. He would have been willing to swear that Belmont Sr. was unarmed up to that point. “There’s so many tubes connected to you. I don’t want you cutting some of them by accident.”

“Is that one of yours?” Geralt asked, looking the small blade over and turning it over. His fingers were still shaky, but Matt could see he wanted to play with the blade. Suddenly, Matt thought of Ciri, and the small mountain of daggers she had on her. 

Also, that was sort of an odd question. Because if the blade wasn’t Belmont Sr.’s, what was he doing with it anyways?

“Yes,” Belmont Sr. said. Then he frowned. “I don’t think I’ve ever given one to anyone before.”

Geralt looked honestly a little misty eyed over that statement, and he held the blade a little tighter.

“Not even…Trevor?”

“He has his own.” Belmont Sr. looked at where his son lay sleeping. “He never needed anything of mine.”

In all the time Matt had been guarding Trevor, he’d never once seen him with a weapon. Then again, he hadn’t noticed any weapons on Belmont Sr., either, so maybe that wasn’t a good metric. 

He glanced over to John and noticed how hard the man was thinking. Matt could practically see the wheels turning. He wondered if he was going to be questioned about combat crosses and other ancient weapons again.

“...Right,” Dr. Miller said cautiously. “Normally we don’t allow weapons in the hospital---” Both Geralt and Belmont Sr. looked at him with a completely unimpressed glare. “---But you know what, as long as no one gets stabbed, sure. Don’t tell the hospital director.”

“We won’t,” Geralt promised solemnly. Belmont Sr. didn't bother with any promises.

Suddenly Belmont Sr. turned his head away from Geralt, towards where his son lay sleeping and frowned. Matt turned to look too and saw his boss stir, his nose wrinkling.

“_Sleep_,” Belmont Sr. said in a voice that Matt could swear echoed. 

A cold shiver ran down Matt’s back and he whipped around to stare at the older man. But Belmont Sr. wasn’t doing anything. He was just staring at where his son slept. After a beat, Matt turned to look that way again and noted that Trevor seemed to have fallen back asleep, ignoring the people around him completely.

There was a long pause as everyone watched the exchange with varying degrees of alarm. All except Geralt, who just seemed amused. 

“Mr. Belmont had a very long day yesterday,” Dr. Miller said finally. It was clear he was just grasping at straws, because that was obviously fucking weird. “He probably needs the rest.”

“He does,” Belmont Sr. confirmed in a commanding voice, as if his son getting any rest or not was dependant on him in any way.

“Nurse, if you would help me with these stitches?” Dr. Miller grabbed a small pair of scissors from a tray and then turned back to Geralt. “Geralt, we’re going to snip off some of these smaller ones, then we’re going to give you a quick clean up. Your wounds all look amazingly good, given that you were bleeding out yesterday. Not even a hint of infection, though the bruising and some swelling is normal…if much farther advanced than expected. After that, I’d like to get you taken over for x-rays so we can get a look at how those breaks are healing.”

Geralt looked to Belmont Sr. at the last part. Strangely, Belmont Sr. just shrugged and shook his head.

“...Sure.” Geralt said eventually. “You can do everything Trevor approved,” he added after a moment of thought.

“I’ve got a list of things that Mr. Belmont had concerns about,” John said, stepping forward. “I can help coordinate that with you.”

For a wild second there, Matt thought that Geralt didn’t know what an x-ray was, but that was impossible so he pushed that thought out of his mind.

Matt settled in to a chair along the wall, mindful of Geralt’s request, and the nurses and the doctor spent the next half hour picking out stitches and washing out the wounds. It wasn’t Matt’s preferred place to stand watch; he didn’t have eyes on the door. Belmont Sr. had already shown a preference for the best position for that and there was no way in hell Matt was going to bring attention to himself by sitting there. At least where he sat now gave him a good view of the bed and both Belmonts.

The quiet sound of multitudes of small stitches being cut quickly filled the room. One of the nurses carefully snipped the stitches and the doctor followed behind her with a pair of pincers, tugging them out one by one. The second nurse followed after him with antibiotic gel. Matt winced, knowing from experience how unpleasant that was. Geralt kept twitching at every tug, his face twisting into strange expressions.

“This feels…” Geralt started but trailed off, seemingly unable to categorize the sensations. Matt sympathised so hard. It wasn’t exactly pain that was bad. Rather it was just the oddness of the tugging sensation that he himself hated about overdue stitches being removed.

“Hurts?” Belmont Sr. asked. Matt wondered if the man ever had any type of surgery before.

“No,” Geralt sighed. “I wish it hurt though, would be easier to deal with.”

Belmont Sr. just hummed at him, and rubbed a thumb across his knuckles. 

Then Matt remembered what Ciri said. “Your daughter told me you play cards. Once you’re feeling a little better we could pass some time that way. I can arrange the watch details so I’m free.”

“Anything to take my mind off having to lay in this bed! Yes! Please,” Geralt said with a desperate kind of eagerness. “Though it’s not a proper card game without some liquor.”

“No,” Belmont Sr. and Dr. Miller said at the same time. They looked at each other for a moment in mild surprise. 

“You are on an awful lot of painkiller, and we just sewed up your liver yesterday,” Dr. Miller continued. “I know you mentioned you wanted solid food, but even that is pushing it.”

“Liquor makes painkiller work better, from what I understand.” Geralt narrowed his eyes a bit, as if reconciling facts in his head. 

“No,” the doctor said. “It affects your body and internal organs, as well as your brain. It is true that alcohol has some effect on experiencing pain, but the damage it does to your organs is not worth the slight increase in pain resistance. And you have to pay for it the next day. You know why? Because it’s poison. So what you people call a ‘hangover’ is nothing else than the result of your body being poisoned and fighting off the side effects long after the dubious positive effects have passed.”

To that, Geralt only grinned. “I poison myself professionally. I’m built to take it.”

“Alcohol also kills off your brain cells, making you lose your mental capability bit by bit.”

“...Have you been talking to my daughter? Maybe some former lovers?” Geralt narrowed his eyes at the doctor, but Matt could see just a hint of smile at his lips.

Good God, this guy was made to start trouble. 

“I don’t drink on the job anyways,” Matt said, before either the doctor or Belmont Sr. started to contemplate strangling the man they’d tried so hard to save. 

“Wise choice,” Geralt said evenly, settling his head back down. “Fighting drunk is a fun trick, but not one I generally like to repeat.”

It didn’t take very long for the doctor and nurses to finish with the stitches and rebandage Geralt back up. They unhooked him from the surrounding machines and fastened the various IV bags to his bed.

“This floor has its own x-ray room,” Dr. Miller said. “We’ll take you down there for a few quick shots, and then bring you right back.”

Belmont Sr. frowned and looked at his sleeping son, and then back to Geralt.

“Matt,” he said unexpectedly. “You will accompany Geralt.” 

Matt looked at his sleeping boss. He didn’t feel like leaving him alone in such a vulnerable state.

“I will stay with my son,” Belmont Sr. said. “You have to keep an eye on Geralt.”

“Hey!” Geralt protested mildly from the bed.

Belmont Sr. transferred his gaze to the wounded man. 

“All you need to find trouble is to _breathe_,” he hissed. “I’m not letting you out of my sight without protection.” He looked at Matt again. His eyes almost burned with the weight of his gaze. “Matt here seems professional enough. And aware of what the possible consequences of failure might be.”

Yeah, Matt knew. Everything about Belmont Sr. screamed that he took care of his own problems. _Expeditiously_. 

He nodded at Belmont Sr. and followed Geralt’s bed out of the room. Matt did notice that John stayed behind. Even though he knew that John would have a snowflake’s chance in hell of doing anything against the kind of trained fighter that Belmont Sr. obviously was, it still settled something in him to know they weren’t leaving Trevor totally alone. 

The x-ray went remarkably quickly. Despite all the bluster and shit talking that Geralt did, he didn’t seem interested in actually making much of a fuss. He did side-eye the x-ray machines pretty hard, and also flat refused to set aside his knife. Dr. Miller tried to look at Matt for support in getting him to drop it, but Matt just shook his head. That was a lost cause.

Strangely enough, the knife didn’t block any part of the image during the x-ray itself. Matt had no idea what it was made of, but it didn’t show up at all. It wasn’t metal. Hell, regardless of that, its density should have shown on the images. But it didn’t. It was like Geralt was holding nothing. Matt had a moment of fierce professional jealousy. If Belmont Sr. was a more approachable man, he probably would have asked about the blade and what it was made of, but in light of his character, decided to keep quiet. 

Just like the doctor promised, the x-ray room was just a few doors down from where Geralt and the Belmonts were located, so getting him there and back went quick. Matt took the opportunity to get a quick look at his people stationed along the corridor and mark who changed shifts. He preferred that his people change one by one, staggered through a shift, instead of the whole team being changed at once. While it did mean that people were constantly rotating in and out, he liked that there was always at least half the team that knew the current situation.

When they got back to the room, it was to the sight of his boss still asleep on the couch, now cuddled up against Belmont Sr.. Trevor shifted in his sleep. His head rested easily on his father’s shoulder and his hair fell over them both to spread over Belmont Sr.’s pale, muscular chest. 

There was a sense of intimacy about the pose that made Matt uncomfortable. It wasn’t the normal parent-child kind of intimacy; there was a vibe that set all the alarm bells ringing in his head. He looked over at John, who was sitting quietly in the chair farthest away from the couch. The aide gave him a wide eyed look in return.

One of the nurses fumbled when Geralt’s bed passed the door. Geralt himself was already dozing, his energy spent. The door squeaked and thumped hard as it closed with much more force than necessary. Geralt woke with a start at the noise of it slamming, and eyes snapped open in alarm. His hand closed around the throwing blade, hiding it in his palm. 

The sound also made Trevor startle awake and he straightened up with a jerk. He ducked his head just a little, letting his hair hang forward and hiding most of his face and his eyes. John sprang up, probably remembering that Trevor took off his contacts and hadn’t yet put them on again. 

Matt noted the movement, but his attention was focused on something else entirely. He was already aware that Belmont Sr. was a trained fighter. That man all but flaunted his physical power. What shocked him was Trevor.

When Trevor moved upright, the jacket covering him slipped, exposing his naked chest and the huge fucking scar bisecting him from nearly shoulder to hip. That and the musculature on him. The tight, rigid muscles of his abdomen and wide, hard chest were clear signs of a seriously trained fighter. His build was different than his father’s. While he seemed to be built for speed and reach, his father was thick like a brawler. Both were impressive in their own way.

Trevor did not curse, but the indrawn breath was enough to express his shock at noticing so many people on the room, most of them staring at his chest. Were they staring at the musculature or the scar from an obviously hideous wound, Matt had no idea.

His boss lowered his head, and his hair fell forward even more. It hid the last trace of his face as he started buttoning up his shirt with nimble fingers.

John was soon between Trevor and the rest of the room, standing so close their knees nearly touched. The aide flailed about for a bit, probably making sure he hid as much of his boss’ body as he could.

“Welcome back, sir. We let you rest on your father’s insistence.” John managed to produce a pair of sunglasses and passed them to Belmont while still standing very close. “You have been on your feet for so long, you could use some more rest actually.”

Long, pale fingers took the sunglasses from John and Trevor slid them on before pushing his hair away from his face.

John reached into his pockets again and pulled out a fistful of scrunchies and hairpins, offering them to Trevor next.

That pulled a smirk from Trevor’s lips and he picked a thick, blue scrunchie from the selection offered. He reached back and quickly twisted his hair up into a messy bun with the hair tie to hold it in place.

“You could have woken me up earlier,” Trevor said quietly, clearly speaking to his father as he got up and went about straightening his clothes. The sunglasses looked good on him. Definitely more designer than the stuff John himself wore. They were clearly meant for Trevor from the get go. Matt had to wonder what else John had in his pockets.

“You minion is telling the truth. You needed the rest and I told them not to wake you,” Belmont Sr. said.

Matt blinked.

_Minion?_

“Just because you are a barbarian, doesn’t mean you have to act like one towards my people.” Trevor sighed, going to get his discarded suit jacket back.

“I have been on my best behavior,” Belmont defended. Then he looked at Matt, his gaze heavy and terrifying. “Haven’t I?”

Geralt snorted softly, and then winced. The nurses around him busily hooked him back up to the various machines, checked the fluid bags, and made their way out of the room. 

“Terrifying them into confirming your good behavior? Now I know why Eskel was so insistent on telling me you were being good that time you all got kidnapped.”

Matt straightened up. “Who got kidnapped?”

“Well, Eskel got kidnapped and this man here,” Geralt pointed a shaking finger at Belmont, “decided it was great jolly fun to be kidnapped too, so he went with the kidnappers as well.” Geralt sounded increasingly irritated. “For fun!”

“I made it worth your while, didn’t I?” Belmont asked with raised eyebrows.

Geralt was quiet for a little while.

“Yeah.” Geralt’s voice was a bit rougher, probably from the exhaustion and sleep. “Yeah, you did.”

Matt put his hands behind his back and spread his legs to make sure he was in parade rest position. He needed to make sure he wouldn’t rub his hands over his face and betray his thoughts. 

Suddenly he was very, very glad he wasn’t Belmont Sr.’s head of security because he would have probably gone grey if his charge decided it was _fun_ to get kidnapped.

“How are you feeling?” Trevor asked. He was beside Geralt’s bed now, bending over him.

“I’m fine,” Geralt said dismissively, trying to lift his arm again. Trevor didn't let him though. He caught Geralt’s arm and pressed it down. “You look better.”

“Don’t try distracting me with compliments,” Trevor said. “You should be asleep. You will aggravate your wounds if you keep moving around so much.”

“I know.” Geralt sighed. With each blink his eyelids stayed closed longer and longer. “I’m tired.”

“Sleep then,” Trevor said, his voice quiet. “Let your body rest and heal.”

“Can’t. This place stinks of sickness and suffering. Infection and chemicals.” Geral wrinkled his nose. It looked like he was struggling to stay awake as it was; his eyelids hung low and he kept blinking the sleep away. 

Matt couldn’t help but discreetly sniff the air. Sure, there was the obvious tang of filtered air, and hospitals always had a certain faint smell. He wouldn’t go so far as to say the place stank, though.

But Trevor just winced in sympathy, and Belmont Sr. stood up to go fetch his armored coat from the chair he’d tossed it on earlier. Then he draped it over Geralt once more. As soon as the heavy fabric lay over him, Geralt took a deep breath, and a soft smile touched his lips.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. Something about the way he said it made Matt think he was thankful for more than just the coat. He tried to shift a bit, but Trevor stopped him, effortlessly holding him down to the bed. “I just need it…yes, like that.” He sighed happily as Trevor tucked the heavy armored collar up over Geralt’s shoulders. 

Rather than falling right to sleep, Geralt cast an unreadable look at Trevor. Then he glanced over to where Matt and John stood. Whatever he saw seemed to disappoint him. He sighed quietly, and when he looked back to Belmont Sr., he said, “Would you bring your blue coat too, next time? It smells different. I like scent of both around me.”

For some reason, Belmont Sr. didn’t seem like a blue kind of guy. Matt dismissed the thought. Everyone had at least some variety in what they liked to wear. 

“Of course,” Belmont Sr. rumbled back at him. “Rest now.”

Geralt nodded slightly, his eyes fluttering shut. Then he took a long, deep breath, and his heart rate started to drop.

_Drastically_. 

Fucking hell, this guy was going to die right there.

A shrill ring sounded out from one of the machines next to him, and a nurse came rushing in. Matt pulled John out of the way to let them through. Oddly, neither of the Belmonts seemed alarmed. In fact, they both seemed mildly irritated at the machine and nurse.

Before the nurse could even get close to Geralt, Belmont Sr. stepped in front of her, blocking the path. 

“Silence your machine.” Each word was packed with menace and the nurse nearly stumbled over herself to back away from him.

The nurse floundered for a moment. “Sir, please, you have to let me---”

At this point, Dr. Miller had rushed in as well, and ended up piling up behind the nurse.

“Geralt is fine,” Belmont Sr. said quietly, and with no little annoyance. “He has slowed his heart on purpose to ease his rest. Silence the machine before it wakes him.”

The nurse just stood there and gaped at him, while Dr. Miller darted around to press a few buttons on the heart monitor. The sound cut off, but it remained tracking the beat on the screen. Geralt’s heart rate had slowed down to one beat every five seconds, and each one was punctuated by one long, slow breath. In, beat, out, beat.

Silence reigned in the room as they all watched Geralt sleep.

“How?” Dr. Miller’s question was a soft whisper in the room.

“Training and skill.” Belmont Sr. sounded both approving and smug. 

Dr. Miller just blinked at him, and then shook his head. “Sure. Why not. This is…normal, though, right?” 

“It is,” Trevor said. 

“Right.” Dr. Miller sighed. “I have his x-ray results. It’s...basically exactly what we expected, given what you and he told us. He’s healing incredibly rapidly. His bones look like they were broken a week ago, not a day ago. The internal injuries, well. Those are trickier to diagnose, but if he was having issues I think we would have been seeing problems already. When he wakes, let a nurse know. We’d like to do some more checks.”

With that, he took himself out. As he left, he gave Matt a wide eyed exasperated look and then rubbed his face with his hands. 

That feeling seemed to be happening a lot around here. 

As soon as both the doctor and the nurse left, the Belmonts settled in as well. Belmont Sr. went back to rest on the couch. The only place in the room, Matt noticed, where he’d have sightlines to his son, Geralt, the door, and the windows. 

Matt couldn't help but wonder just what was it that Belmont Sr. did in his life that settled those habits so deeply. Was he a soldier before? A mercenary? The training seemed much more comprehensive than somebody without military experience could get. 

Trevor pulled up a chair next to Geralt’s bed, and rested one hand on Geralt’s chest. 

“John, Matt, report please,” Trevor said quietly, clearly trying to keep from disturbing Geralt.

John and Matt glanced at each other. At John’s nod, Matt spoke first. “Things are going smoothly here. Standard expected individuals trying to gain access. Hospital has been cooperative. No incidents.”

“That’s good to hear.” Trevor took off his sunglasses and rubbed his eyes. Then he looked over to John, and raised an eyebrow.

“I wish my news were as good.” John walked over to his briefcase and pulled out a tablet, quickly typing on it, and then handing it off to Trevor. “There’s been some leak of news about you entering the hospital, but nothing about why you’re here, and not a word about Geralt. There’s footage of the helicopter we took to get here, but nothing beyond that. The speculation has caused a drop in stock prices, but not a drastic one.”

“Hmmm. Unavoidable, but not totally unwelcome. Buy up additional shares. Keep an eye on the rest of the medical market. Find out who else is buying.” Trevor browsed through whatever figures that John had compiled. 

“Are the Bernhards making any noises?” Trevor asked. It was a well known fact that the remaining members of that family did not take well to their corporation being bought out from under them. 

“Publicly? All we’re getting from them is the standard trash talking on social media. Privately?” John pushed up the bridge of his glasses and frowned. “That’s harder to prove, but best we can tell they’re pushing. Rumor has it that backroom deals in three different manufacturing plants are in the works for this week, and they’ve suddenly decided to jump on a candidate for the mayoral race.”

“Tell whoever needs to hear it, that should a Bernhard win the office I will withdraw all funding from the city.”

John went a little pale, but nodded. Their boss’ dislike for the Bernhard family had long been apparent. Matt had been involved enough with various connections on the weapons scene that he knew what kind of warmongering they got involved in. For a long time, they made the best weapons there were. With the onset of the Outbreak, Bernhard Metals, LTD was one of the companies that Belmont managed to seize. The Bernhards, a family just as old and well known as the Belmonts, had not taken it well. 

Given how ruthless that particular business could be, Matt was generally happy to just be in charge of Trevor’s personal security. Corporate espionage was a serious concern. There were rumors, too, of some rather nasty illegal weapons dealings. Weapons that didn’t go through official channels and products that no sane person would use. Matt tried to keep an eye on it, if only because he knew damn well that the Bernhards would use whatever they could to take out Trevor. Literally, probably. 

“Bernhards are still giving you trouble?” Belmont Sr. asked from his seat on the couch. There was something of a surprise in his voice, but all of that was underlined by a vague thread of menace.

“Always,” his son answered, not bothering to look up from his tablet screen. “Though, not in the traditional sense. Most of their descendants keep to the black markets and money grubbing.”

“I thought Laura was the last of them.” Belmont Sr.’s voice softened at that name. Then he shook his head. “Nothing good ever came out of that family.”

“As far as I know, the main branch died out a long time ago. There were some cousins and such scattered around who took over what remained of their fortune after the Bernhards’ castle fell to Carmilla.”

John shot Matt a look. He wasn’t sure what Trevor was talking about, but the Bernhards hadn’t had a castle in hundreds of years. If the Belmonts had been watching the Berhards since then, that was a _really fucking long time_ to hold a family grudge. 

“Hmm,” Belmont Sr. shifted, rubbing his hand over his chin. “Should I have made an effort to track them all down originally?”

Now that sounded incredibly fucking ominous. 

At that, Trevor looked up to his father, speculatively. After a moment’s thought, he said, “No. There were other, more pressing matters. And no one can say what humans will do. The family could have easily gone another way.”

When it looked like neither Belmont was going to continue that side conversation, John picked up again with his report. “It would be best if you made a public statement, and soon. The longer you wait, the more confidence in your position will weaken, and the more trouble we’ll start to have with the sharks circling. You could do a recorded statement, but it won’t have the same impact as physically showing up. Videos can be faked. Showing up in person more thoroughly proves that you are still well.”

Trevor nodded reluctantly, though his eyes strayed to Geralt’s sleeping form. “I’ll need new clothes. Limited questions. Pre-screen the reporters, and write up a list of things I won’t be answering. Check with the hospital director. We’ll need a room here for it. Not on this floor.”

That was a bit of a relief for Matt. He could set up a seperate group of his guys to run security on the press room, and keep this floor locked up like a drum.

“...What will you be saying?” John raised his eyebrows.

A smirk tugged at Trevor’s lips. “I’ll have to think on it.”

“The value of your company depends on your personal well being?” Belmont Sr. asked, sounding displeased.

“Somewhat,” Trevor said. “Think of it in terms of royalty. If a king is weak, his subjects may suffer from poor leadership. His nobles will seek to depose him. Other countries look to take advantage. It is similar now.”

“You can’t keep this up long term,” Belmont Sr. said. He leaned farther into the couch and rested one arm on the back of it. “In your…situation, that will cause more trouble than you can reasonably deal with.”

Matt remembered the blood on Trevor’s lips, and the worry inside of him grew. Suddenly the things that the Belmonts were talking around seemed like massive elephants in the room.

“I know.” Trevor sighed. “I don’t have to, though. I think it will only take another couple of years to get the city over most of the major crises. In the meantime, I will try to create a network of corporations to own all of my companies, muddling up the chain of ownership enough so that I will be able to fade into the background. I will need some figureheads though,” Trevor said, looking at John with a speculative tilt of his head.

“And if something…unexpected happens before then?” Belmont Sr. asked. The words didn’t sound concerned. If there was some kind of life threatening illness happening here, that made it sound like Belmont Sr. didn’t give a flying fuck about it. Which led Matt to believe that whatever ‘unexpected’ things that Belmont Sr. was addressing, they had nothing to do with his son’s health. Which was odd. He’d seemed more concerned for his son’s welfare for that kind of disregard.

_Or maybe he knows that he’s in control of whatever unexpected event will happen,_ Matt thought with a cold shiver. Domestic abuse was still a viable theory here, after all. 

But Trevor didn’t look concerned, so maybe there wasn’t a more sinister insinuation. “Billionaires are known to be eccentric.” He shrugged. “Sometimes I may need to disappear for a short while.”

_Disappear_. Like maybe if he were recovering from a serious injury. Matt’s eyes flickered over to Geralt, and he wondered again just what the hell the Belmonts got up to in their free time.

“Do you want me to come back here?” Belmont Sr. asked, his voice heavy. Matt knew there was something dangerous implied, but for the life of him he didn’t know what. Did he mean to bring his crime syndicate to Castlevania? Make himself known publicly? None of those things seemed like a good thing for the city, much less his boss.

“There is no need.” Trevor’s voice was surprisingly gentle, as if he were sparing his father a great trial. “Matters here are well in hand, and even if I were to disappear tomorrow, the city is still better off now by far than it was a year ago.”

“I will never understand how you can have so much patience for people.” Belmont Sr. shook his head, bafflement clear on his face. “After so long, and after everything that happened, you still want to save them all.”

That brought a quiet laugh out of Trevor. “I would if I could. I know too well my own limits. But people are…” He looked distant for a moment, then he looked back into Belmont Sr.’s eyes. “There is so much worth saving, Father.”

Belmont Sr.’s lips twisted down at the corners. He looked conflicted. Like he wanted to vehemently deny his son’s words but something was stopping him. He looked over to where Geralt was sleeping and sighed.

“Very well then,” he agreed. To what, Matt had no idea. He knew half the conversation was flying over his head.

Trevor raised an eyebrow at him. “Did you want to come back here?”

“No,” Belmont Sr. said in that deep rumbling voice. “This place only serves to remind me of your mother’s death and Zobek’s hand in all of that. To know he thrived and prospered after what happened…No, I do not want to spend more time here than I absolutely have to.”

Matt swallowed hard. That sounded very much like Belmont Sr. was saying that his wife was murdered by Zobek, or at least that Zobek ordered it. None of this was public knowledge. Hell, none of it was even rumored or whispered about. No wonder the man was pleased to hear that his son had devoured Zobek’s empire. 

Whatever had happened, Trevor must have been aware of it, because he simply nodded. “At the very least, you were able to get your revenge. I admit myself very satisfied in taking apart everything Zobek created and using it for my own ends.”

That last bit was said so coldly that both Matt and John stood up a bit straighter. Their boss wasn’t usually so vicious, at least not towards any single person. Certainly he was cunning and ruthless in his pursuit of helping Castlevania City, and in taking over several vulnerable local industries. 

Maybe this was why. Death of a beloved parent was a very strong motivator.

Despite that, Matt couldn’t think any less of his boss. There was some personal tragedy there, and Trevor had taken whatever had happened and used it as an excuse to help hundreds of thousands of people. Maybe millions, if one thought about what he’d done to spread the antidote for the infection that caused the Outbreak. 

“Sir,” a voice in Matt’s earpiece piped in. “We’ve got a bit of an issue at the south stairs.” 

Matt tapped his ear piece. “I’m here. What’s up?”

“Ciri is back, and she’s got someone with her. Big guy. Armed, we think. He’s refusing to take off his weapons, and they’re refusing to leave.”

“On my way,” he said. Then he looked at the rest of the room. “Please excuse me a moment.”

It only took a minute to get over to the stairwell, and sure enough there was Ciri. She was basically dressed in the same way as the night before, though she wore a different colored shirt this time. She’d already slung her cloak over her shoulder, showing off that incredibly impressive knife collection strapped to her waist and legs.

She was dwarfed by a man standing next to her. As big as Geralt, he was a veritable mountain of muscle. His brown hair pulled back in a low ponytail. He sported a jacket that was really not much more than leather and chainmail armor, belts and pouches across his chest, and what _looked_ like a double sword harness on his back. His cloak was protruding in a way Matt already learned to recognize, suggesting two sword hilts over one shoulder. Hanging off his neck was a pendant identical to the one that Belmont Sr. was keeping for Geralt. 

_Geralt has two swords, too. One solid silver,_ Matt thought, remembering what John had said.

All of that paled in comparison to the extreme scarring on his face and throat. It looked like some creature tried to claw his face off, and the red, angry scars stretched from his temple to his lips, breaking the upper lip on the right side of his face. His neck looked like it had been split open by the same set of claws and just as haphazardly put back together.

“Matt!” Ciri said brightly. “Please tell your men that we’re not here to cause trouble. We just wanted to see my father.”

“Ciri,” Matt said with a nod. “If you’re not here to cause trouble, then you’ll be happy to put aside your weapons.”

“Piss off,” the man behind her growled. His voice sounded so damn rough that it belonged more to a feral dog than to a human being. “I’m not taking off my swords for Geralt’s lazy ass.” He rolled his eyes.

Shit, his eyes were just like Geralt’s, too. Yellow with vertical slit pupils, just like a cat. 

Matt had to blink at the immediate rebuttal. “Weapons aren’t allowed near Mr. Belmont.”

The look that Matt got in return from this guy was something that could have been listed under the definition for _Bitch, please_. “He damn well doesn’t care about my swords.”

Ciri grinned, wide and slow at the man and raised her eyebrows. 

“Argg, shut up!” The man bristled a bit and clenched his fists. “You know what I meant, good Gods, girl! It’s enough that Geralt’s mind is constantly in the gutter. Don’t follow his example so closely!”

“It’s alright, Eskel. I know what you meant. I’m sure that he doesn’t mind your swords at all,” Ciri said with a solemn nod that had to be completely fake. 

The man growled again, this time wordlessly.

The fuck was even going on here?

Matt looked up at the ceiling for a moment and took a breath. “Ciri, if you would not antagonize the heavily armed man next to you, that would be much appreciated. Also, still no weapons allowed. Your gear will be safe with us, and we’d be happy to return it to you as soon as you leave.”

“Again, piss off. After all the shit I went through to get this stuff, I’m not going to give it away to a group of humans I could take on by myself without breaking a sweat.”

Matt was slightly offended at that assessment. His people were the best. Although, this guy did look like a pro, himself.

“Mmhmm,” Ciri hummed. “We all heard of how…Trevor’s father took you shopping.”

Matt looked over the big man, noting again his scars and his sheer size, and felt an inkling take root in his mind. Gabriel Belmont seemed to have a weakness for a certain…_type_ it seemed. He remembered how careful and intimate Belmont Sr. seemed with Geralt, and now Ciri was suggesting that he treated this man as some kind of kept…the term _boy_ didn’t fit the sheer menace this man was exuding, but maybe kept warrior? Assassin?

The man just glared at Ciri. “Payment for services rendered.”

She said nothing, but the shit eating grin on her face was eloquent enough.

“For fucks sake! Not like that!”

“I said nothing,” she demurred.

“This is how you treat me. Who was it who taught you how to cheat at cards? Who showed you how to make your first bomb? And---”

“Vesemir showed me how to make my first bomb.” She was still grinning.

He just glared at her more, and then turned to look at Matt. 

“Children are so ungrateful today,” he complained. “Regardless, I’m keeping my weapons. Kindly move.”

“I am in charge of security for Mr. Belmont and his guests during their stay here. If you were in my place, would you let in an armed stranger?”

The man actually laughed at him. “Yes. What would they do? Tickle us all to death with them.”

Matt grit his teeth.

“Do you really believe, truly, that there is no way, absolutely no way, somebody could hurt you or my charges?”

“Ever? Or just here right now?” The man tilted his head curiously.

“Ever,” Matt clarified. All one needed was a chance, that one single moment where vigilance failed or circumstances aligned. There was always somebody more dangerous out there.

“I can be hurt.” He waved at the scars on his face. “Obviously. Your charges…” He glanced to Ciri, and frowned. “That’s not for me to say. But your charges cannot be hurt by me, not ever. And I have absolutely no worries about my safety from you lot. So for this moment in time, no. None of us are doing anything but getting into a dick waving contest. Just let me through.”

That was when the name clicked in his head. Eskel. This was the guy who saw Belmont Sr. in a full rage over what had happened to Geralt and walked up to hug it out. Having now met Belmont Sr., Matt had to admit that he was more than a little impressed. Still, if this man really was a kept…_something_, that was just part of his duties, right?

Hard on the heels of that was the realization that if an enraged Belmont Sr. didn’t scare the piss out of this guy, nothing Matt would do or say could be at all intimidating.

Matt sighed. 

“This is pointless.” He pulled out his phone, clicked two quick pictures of the new man’s face, and sent the images through company chat to John. Let him verify with their boss if Matt was to let this man in without stripping him of all the weapons he was undoubtedly carrying.

Both Ciri and Eskel frowned at Matt’s phone, and then looked at each other.

Seconds after it sent, Matt got a response.

_Creepy guy incoming._

Well that was just great.

Matt only noticed Belmont Sr. approach because he looked for it. For a man that big, he barely made a sound as he walked. He’d at least made an effort to look more presentable. His shirt was mostly buttoned up again and his suit jacket was back. All that black only made him look paler under the artificial lights. Those same lights made all the jewels on his fingers sparkle like mad. 

He brushed right by where Matt stood and walked right up to Eskel, easily stepping into his space. Then he put a hand on the back of Eskel’s neck, resting his palm right under where the pony tail was tied. 

The touch was strangely possessive, but somehow bizarrely in line with how Belmont Sr. seemed to interact with everyone he was close to. It still set off vague alarms in the back of Matt’s head. 

“Eskel.” There was pleasure in Belmont Sr.’s voice, but something else, too. Matt could read just a touch of uncertainty there. “What are you doing here?”

While a hint of red touched Eskel’s cheeks and ears, he didn’t dispute the hand on him, which was extra interesting. A quick glance to Ciri showed that she’d settled into a neutral expression. For all her shit talking and teasing with Eskel, she wasn’t willing to weigh in while Belmont Sr. was standing right there. Wasn’t that interesting.

“Vesemir lost his shit when he saw that Night ripped up his garden while hunting moles. They’re in negotiations right now. I figured I should get out of there before getting hit in the crossfire.” Eskel side-eyed Matt and frowned. “These guys want me to give up my weapons.”

“They seem to be quite cautious.” The fact the words definitely had a note of approval in them was very gratifying. “My son chose his people well.”

Now Eskel turned his glare on Belmont Senior. “Geralt doesn’t take his weapons off for me. None of you have cared before. You damn well know I’d rather stab myself than hurt any of you three. Disarming Ciri and I now does no one any damn good. All it does is make us more vulnerable as a group.”

“Are you expecting trouble?” Matt asked, slightly frowning. Whatever history these people had together aside, it was telling that Eskel considered himself a part of their group and was weighing group tactical options.

Eskel turned to look at Matt. “The way this city feels? Wouldn’t shock me. For fuck’s sake, with the sheer amount of uncontrolled demonic energy here, I’m almost tempted to see if there are any bounties up.”

_Demonic energy? Really?_ Matt could practically feel his people give each other disbelieving looks. If it weren’t for the fact that the last year in Castlevania City had been weird as fuck, Matt would have dismissed that as crazy talk, too. Given what he’d seen in the last day at the hospital, he grudgingly let it slide. John was gonna have a field day, though. Also, _bounties?_

“You’re a merc,” Matt stated flatly. Those guys were generally bad news. Morally flexible, and willing to take the truly terrible jobs. Things that were never very legal, even on the best of days. Worst of all, they never stuck around long enough to take any damn responsibility for their work.

“No.” Eskel narrowed his eyes and bared his teeth in something that wasn’t quite a sneer or a grin. “I’m a witcher.”

Maybe they were in some kind of cult. Or maybe that was the title Belmont Sr. used for his hitmen. Maybe that was what Gabriel Belmont did as his day job; running some kind of cultish hitmen organization? That would explain a lot. Trademark weapons, scarring, maybe even the visible mutations. 

If Matt considered the rumors of the Belmont family’s history, some mutations would explain a lot of the extreme feats they were known for. Maybe that was what Belmont Sr. did to, or looked for, in his people. The mutations, that edge above regular humans. Geralt’s eyes and extreme healing abilities. Eskel's eyes and most probably healing too, considering the extent of his scarring and the fact he was still clearly functional. All of those painted a pretty clear picture.

“Hmmmm.” Belmont Sr. looked at them and rubbed a thumb over his neatly trimmed goatee. 

“Nooooo.” Eskel turned to stare at Belmont Sr., eyes wide in alarm. “Whatever you’re thinking, no.”

But Belmont Sr. ignored him and took a step back, looking at both Ciri and Eskel up and down. 

“Strip,” he ordered. 

“What?!” Ciri and Eskel chorused. Matt blinked at them, jaw slightly dropped.

“If I need to change out of my armor for my son to feel more comfortable, you two can as well,” Belmont Sr. said mercilessly. Matt boggled at the idea of what he even would look like in full armor, then he thought about that red coat with all its gold armored plates. Then he boggled again, because _armor_? “Now strip. You can keep whatever weapons you can conceal in your new clothes. You.” He turned to Matt. “I’m sure you can find them something suitable to wear while they’re here.”

“Wait, why am I involved with this?” Ciri complained. “I was fine handing over my sword!”

But Belmont Sr. just ignored her, instead continuing to stare at their bodies, as if trying to imagine them in other outfits. Or, fuck, maybe he was color matching in his head. From the way he was dressed, obviously the guy had opinions on color themes. 

Eskel muttered a few curses under his breath, but proceeded to take off his cloak. Sure enough, under it were two big ass swords, as well as another handful of daggers strapped to his sides, and a _giant fucking metal hook_ hanging off his belt. 

Matt couldn’t keep it in. He had to ask. “Okay. The swords, the knives, those I get. But the hook? Why?”

“For trophies,” Eskel said nonchalantly as he started working on the buckles of the sword harnesses. “Carrying a severed head around is annoying and more slippery than you’d think. Easier to put it on a hook.”

All Matt could do was stare in horror. This guy was probably a serial killer. That’s what was going on here. He’d just invited a serial killer up to hang out with his billionaire playboy boss. 

As he was having an internal freakout about that answer, Belmont Sr. was next to him nodding. 

“If you had clawed gauntlets, that would work as well.” Belmont Sr. held up his hand and crooked his fingers as if he were holding something by the tips of his fingers, like claws. “Good grip. Functional. Multipurpose. No need for actual blades.”

“Well, sure, but what if I wanted both hands free?” Eskel said logically.

“You shouldn’t limit yourself to just the one option. You could have both. Maybe we should do another shopping trip…” 

The look of pure horror that crossed Eskel’s face was priceless, and he froze in place for a moment. “No. Absolutely not. I am extremely pleased with my gear, but I do not need clawed gauntlets. If someone is close enough that I need to brawl with them, I’ll just punch them in the face.”

Belmont Sr. hummed again, but sounded unconvinced. 

“...If you’re going shopping again, can I go?” Ciri asked. “I could use some new armor.”

“And dresses. You have no fine clothes.” Belmont Sr. looked at her, one eyebrow raised.

She winced hard. “Shit.”

Eskel snorted. 

The shock of whatever the fuck was going on here started to wear off, because Matt suddenly remembered that he needed to get clothes for them. Quickly.

He pulled out his phone again and sent a frantic message to John. Damn, but the man was a miracle worker, because in under a minute, Matt has a response saying that _some_ kind of clothes would be delivered within fifteen minutes, and that they could get something better later. 

Eskel had finally gotten his swords off, and he held them to his chest like they were his only children. He looked at Matt, who was still trying not to look like an idiot faced with this craziness and maybe failing. Then he looked to Belmont Senior. 

“Here.” Eskel thrust the swords at Belmont Senior. “Hold on to these for me.”

Belmont Sr. blinked at him. “You trust me with your swords?”

“Yes,” he said, as if that were obvious. “Just give them back to me when I need them, or before I leave. Whichever comes first.”

Most of Ciri’s weapons were already handed over to Jacob, but then Matt noticed she’d started to unlace her shirt.

“Wait,” Matt said, holding up a hand. He honestly hadn’t thought that they would literally drop their clothes right there in the hall. Or, at least, that Ciri would. Eskel seemed to be dragging his feet on the whole affair. Much to Matt’s relief. “Not here. There’s a side room. I can’t let you go unattended, but we can at least get out of the hall.”

Given the fact that some of the nurses were now watching discreetly from the nurses’ station down the hall, that idea was probably overdue. 

He, Ciri, Eskel, and Belmont Sr. headed into one of the vacant patient rooms near the stairs. Once inside, Eskel and Ciri both started piling more weapons onto the bed there. 

Holy fuck. Matt had thought that Ciri had a fair amount of weapons on her. Clearly, he wasn’t thinking creatively enough, because Eskel was armed for bear. Several bears. And maybe a joust, too. 

By the time Eskel had worked his way out of his heavy leather and chainmail armor, there was a knock on the door.

Matt wandered over to the door and picked up the clothing bags from one of his men, then he handed them over to Ciri and Eskel. Decency suggested that he turn away while they changed, but he was loath to actually do so. He wanted to know what weapons they were wearing and where. That was just sensible security.

The two of them puzzled over the clothing for a while. Ciri claimed what looked to be a plain, loose black skirt and a pale blue button up shirt from the gift store downstairs, and Eskel pulled out loose jeans and a darker blue button up. The garments were huge; probably since John had no idea what sizes he had to work with. Matt was just grateful that they had clothes at all. 

Apparently being watched didn’t bother either Ciri or Eskel one bit. Ciri did turn around to strip off her shirt before she put on the button up, though.

Matt knew that Ciri was a fighter. It was clear in the way she moved, the way she filled out her clothes. But actually seeing all that hard muscle along her back and on her arms was another thing entirely. 

She was beautiful. 

Scars were littered here and there, more evidence of whatever crazy life she led, but Matt didn’t find them unappealing. Somehow they just emphasised her strength that much more. For all the sinewy muscle on her, she was delicately built. Her shoulders were thin and her frame tall, but she lacked the sheer bulk that her father held. Her white hair was wrapped in a messy bun low at the back of her head. Long ashen strands escaped it in all directions. He couldn't stop thinking about how oddly ethereal her green eyes looked when combined with her white hair and dark black eyeliner.

Matt tried very, very hard not to keep looking. He couldn’t help but take another glance though.

The shirt was long enough that she could have worn it as a dress alone, if she put a belt on it. So once that was on, she stripped off her leather pants and slipped on the skirt. Her legs were just as fantastic as the rest of her, powerful and firm, and Matt caught himself wondering just how many knives she’d end up strapping to her thighs once that skirt was in place. 

There was an itching sensation on the back of his neck. Matt then realized he was being stared at by both Belmont Sr. and Eskel. 

_Shit. That was massively unprofessional_, he thought with an embarrassed wince, and his face heated up a bit.

To his vast relief, neither of them seemed to want to make a fuss out of it. Belmont Sr. looked faintly amused, though Eskel had a narrowed eyed look that made Matt worry a bit.

In the short time his attention had been divided, Eskel had slipped on his new jeans and was threading one of his belts through the loops. His chest was still bare, and there wasn’t a pennyweight's worth of fat on him anywhere. Nothing but hard muscle. 

Also, holy fuck did that man have a lot of scars. 

Some were things that Matt recognized as stab wounds, cuts, or burns. But others looked like claw slashes and bites. In fact, there was a whole line of fresh bite marks down the man’s neck and shoulder. They looked mostly healed, but given how quickly Geralt was healing, that probably didn’t say much. The spread of the bite made it look like it came from a human mouth, but the punctures looked far to wide for that. A human’s front teeth were were made for cutting; they would have left a thin line as a scar. But these bites had thick, wide punctures, like whatever had bit Eskel had fangs. Or maybe the bites were particularly vicious. Or both.

Not only that, but spread across Eskel’s chest was a massive black tattoo, about the size of a large spread hand, positioned right over his heart. The center of it was a large triangle with strange lettering and glyphs filling the inside. Outside of that, the ink spread out and down, like roots almost, and more glyphs lined the border of the triangle.

Matt was staring. He knew he was, and he knew it was rude. It still took him a minute to look back up at Eskel’s eyes. Eyes that shone in the dim light of the room. Matt looked at the pile of weaponry on the bed, then looked back to Ciri and Eskel. Both were fighters, clearly seasoned ones. But what the fuck they’d been fighting, Matt had no idea.

It felt for a minute like he’d fallen into an adventure story.

What even was going on with these people? 

Another strange thing he noticed was the way Eskel looked down at his chest, as if surprised by his own tattoo. Then he looked up at Belmont Sr. and...glowered. When Matt looked over at Belmont Sr., the man was carefully studying his nails, so falsely innocent that Matt’s teeth ached with it.

Matt cleared his throat a bit, and nodded towards Eskel’s chest, noting that the wolf medallion still hung around his neck. “That’s an interesting tattoo. What does it mean?”

“As far as I can tell, it means ‘mine’,” Eskel said with no little resignation, and then he slipped on the shirt provided.

For whatever reason, this made Belmont Sr. laugh.

While Matt tried to puzzle sense out of that answer, Ciri and Eskel proceeded to conceal an impressive number of knives all over their bodies. In Eskel’s case, he also managed to hide a few glass vials of some strange colored liquid. 

Once they were finished, Matt called in Jacob to collect and organize the remaining weapons. Belmont Sr. kept ahold of Eskel’s swords, slinging the harness easily over one shoulder. 

As they walked, Ciri asked, “How is Geralt?”

“Resting,” Belmont Sr. said. “Meditating.”

Both Ciri and Eskel seemed relieved by this, and they walked the rest of the way to the room in silence. 

Meditation made it sound like some kind of holy ritual. It set Matt’s head spinning in some truly strange directions. Before he could get too wrapped up in those wild thoughts, they got to the room. 

The moment Eskel and Ciri caught sight of Geralt, they moved to the bed. Trevor stood up from his seat at the bedside and waved Ciri into it. She smiled at him, but quickly seated herself, placing one hand onto Geralt’s chest.

Eskel walked over to the other side of the bed, eyeing Geralt’s body up and down and taking a quick sniff of the air. 

“Fuck, he looks like shit. Smells like blood and poison, too,” Eskel said.

“There were poison arrows,” Trevor said quietly.

“No.” Eskel shook his head. “Well, yes, there’s that. But I can smell the potions he used. He took too many. Far, far too many.” He leaned in, closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, tilting his head a little as if to catch the scent in the air. 

“What do you smell?” Ciri asked.

“Swallow. Lots of it. Kiss. Golden Oriole. He was bleeding and poisoned long before he stopped running. Swallow took care of the wounds and Golden Oriole would have taken care of the poison, temporarily anyways, but it wasn’t enough. He must have had to take Kiss too, to slow the bleeding down.” He sniffed, tilting his head again. “White Raffard’s Decoction. White Honey. The smell of White Honey is too strong. He overdosed himself several times over. Healing with Swallow and White Raffard’s, cleansing the poison with Golden Oriole, cleansing the toxicity with White Honey, and then starting over again. He didn’t even bother with anything to boost his attack. Just things to keep him running. Fuck.” 

“I don’t think he had any other choice than to run,” Belmont Sr. said from his spot on the couch. His body positioning was relaxed, but the look in his eyes was anything but. “They had dogs hunting him, close, middle, and long range forces when I arrived there.”

“How many?” Eskel asked.

Belmont Sr. shrugged.

“I didn’t bother to count.” He sounded viciously satisfied about whatever he did to the people hunting Geralt, and Matt had no doubts what that _whatever_ was. John must have caught on to that murderous undertone, too, because he was looking at Belmont Sr. with wide, alarmed eyes.

“I don’t think that place will be habitable for years to come,” Ciri said. “I’m not sure Geralt would like that level of destruction.” She sounded carefully reproachful, as if she really wanted to chastise Belmont Sr. but didn’t quite dare.

“Good,” Belmont Sr. said with a terrible twist to his lips. “When he is better, I will personally show him what I did. I will show him the place that’s nothing but ash now. So that he knows what happens if he doesn’t ask for fucking _help_!” he roared the last words out, all veneer of pleasantness and control stripped away as his anger surged to the surface. The tendons on his neck stood out and he leaned forward, exuding so much menace and rage that Matt took an instinctive step towards Ciri, his mind already half set on getting between her and the threat.

She leaned slightly away from him, but she didn’t look cowed, merely cautious.

“You can’t just throw your weight around like that,” Ciri said urgently. “You knew the Path was dangerous, you knew he could get hurt. You can’t just go on a rampage like that if things---” Her voice broke down suddenly. “If he doesn't make it one day,” she whispered. There was a shine to her green eyes, startlingly pale among her dark makeup. Matt realized she was holding back tears.

“Eskel, some help here.” She turned to her silent companion. 

“This wasn’t the damn Path and you know it,” Eskel growled. “This is politics. Bullshit politics, which we shouldn’t be involved in anyways. Everybody knows witchers die alone and forgotten in some ditch or another. There are no graves for us, there are no people bringing flowers to mourn our passing.” The big man was hunched forward, bringing an image of a charging bull to Matt’s mind. “Personally, I like the idea of somebody caring what happened, somebody scary enough other people will think twice about whether it’s worth it to hunt a witcher a sport.”

“None of you will die nameless and forgotten, not anymore.” Trevor injected, voice firm and strong. He didn’t look shocked or surprised at the train of the conversation. 

Eskel smiled bitterly at him. 

“There’s just Geralt, me, and Lambert now. Vesemir is getting too old for the Path, preferring to stay at the keep more and more. The Wolf School is dead.”

Ciri lowered her head, and the white ends of her hair fell forward to trail over Geralt’s chest.

“We are the last ones,” Eskel said quietly.

Trevor looked down at his hands, then at John, and back to Eskel. His face was calm and composed, his eyes no longer betraying any emotion.

“Do you want the school to be revived?” Trevor asked suddenly. “With Bioquimek’s advancements into mutagenics and gene splicing, I could probably produce much more efficient mutagens for the Trials than any you had before.”

Eskel looked up sharply at him, and furrowed his brow. He thought for a moment, and then shook his head and went back to staring at the ground. 

“We were made for a reason. Now humans don’t want us. So fuck ‘em. Geralt, Lambert, and I, we can’t stop hunting. It’s all that we are. But what was done to make us…” He shook his head. “None of us want to see it happen again. Maybe it’s better we all die. It still hurts, though. No more new students. No more brothers.”

Eskel let out a hard breath.

“I never expected you to be the one to offer, though,” Eskel said, looking to Trevor. “Out of the two of you”---he motioned between the two Belmonts---“I expected him to make the offer.”

Trevor was still unreadable as he looked at Eskel.

“You never ask for things. Not serious things anyway, just the paltry stuff anybody can give you.”

“What more do we need? Food, weapons, armor.” Eskel raised his eyebrows, looking mildly mystified. “We’re not meant to have anything else.”

Belmont Sr. laughed suddenly. “To hear you say that, son, is hilarious.” He tilted his head to give Trevor a sardonic look. “When was the last time _you_ asked me for something?”

“You are a hard man to predict,” Trevor said, locking gazes with his father. “You sometimes choose to deliver in unexpected ways. Or the scope of what you choose to give is…not quite what was expected of you. It makes it hard to ask.”

Belmont Sr. smiled, still looking over his shoulder at his son.

“I love how you manage to hide truth among your lies.”

Matt tensed, unable to read Belmont Sr.’s mood from his voice alone. He seemed amused, but he also seemed like a man who was able to hide his emotions very deep if he wanted. Maybe he just didn’t feel the need to hide it most of the time. 

Right now, Belmont Sr. chose to show amusement, but Matt felt the little hairs on the back of his neck raise up. He wasn’t the only one to feel unease. His boss, while still keeping eye contact with his father, tensed. Eskel was also watching the older Belmont with careful eyes.

“Father,” Trevor said carefully but no more words were forthcoming.

“You have been trying to handle me for a long while now,” Belmont Sr. said. The amusement leaked out of his voice, leaving it strangely blank. Almost thoughtful. 

“I…” Trevor hesitated, but never took his eyes off of his father. “I don’t want to come back to how it used to be.”

“Do you think my anger to be so unreasonable?”

“I don’t think this is the place for this conversation,” Eskel said, crossing the room in just a few steps and insinuating himself directly between father and son, facing Belmont Sr..

Damn, that took balls. Matt himself wasn’t allowed to intervene until his boss indicated distress, so he was grateful for Eskel’s interruption. It didn't take away from the fact Eskel was facing Belmont with his head held high and expression calm.

“Witchers,” Belmont Sr. said, his voice unbearably fond. “All of you have more balls than brains.” He rested his chin on his curled up fist, watching Eskel with bright eyes that Matt couldn’t read.

“I protest the accusations. I read a lot.” Eskel shrugged easily, still making sure to remain a meatshield between father and son.

“It’s true,” Ciri piped in, some tension in her voice. She was obviously trying to shift the mood. “His brain isn't even always in the gutter, unlike my father’s.” She patted Geralt’s chest gently. “This one is a little bit of a lech.”

“There are literally songs about how much he’s fucked around,” Eskel said with amusement. “Hard to compete with that.”

“I have yet to hear any of those songs,” Belmont Sr. said, turning away from Eskel and looking to where Geralt lay sleeping. His pose seemed to suggest that he’d abandoned whatever line of argument was brewing there before, much to Matt’s relief.

“You kind of scare the piss out of Dandelion, so he’s not eager to share. I know ‘em, but my voice is shit. Get Lambert drunk instead. He’ll sing ‘em for you.”

“Oh gods, just let me know when you're doing it so that I can make sure to be as far away as possible. I do not want to hear any of them,” Ciri said with a groan, hiding her face in her hand. “I already know way more about my father’s exploits than I ever wanted to.”

Eskel stepped back and rubbed his face with both hands. 

“I, too, know far too much about what Geralt’s gotten up to.” Eskel sighed and went closer to Geralt’s bed again. Matt saw him take a breath and flinch from whatever he smelled.

There was a bit of a pause in the conversation. Enough that Matt couldn’t help but ask a question that had been simmering in the back of his head for a while now. 

“You can smell what he was poisoned with just by leaning over him?” Matt asked, intensely curious. 

It wasn’t really normal protocol to ask questions of his charges, but it felt like they’d breached that bit of politeness already. And Trevor had said he’d try to answer questions as he could. 

“Mmhmmm,” Eskel said with a nod. “But only really because we use the same recipes, and lately we’ve had similar harvest spots. I know what those potions smell like. The fact that I can still smell them means that his body is still overworked with toxicity.”

“So no more potions for a while.” Ciri sighed. “We expected that.”

Eskel just nodded again. After another quiet moment, he looked up to Trevor. “Thank you for saving my brother. I don’t know what it cost you to do it, but thank you.”

A bit more of the family tree unfolded into Matt’s mind. So Geralt and Eskel were brothers. Maybe the cat-eyes were an inherited trait, like Belmont’s strange eye coloring. It begged the question of if they were related to the Belmonts in any way.

“I am relieved I was able to do so,” Trevor replied. 

Quiet settled over the room after that. Maybe there just wasn’t anything else to say.

Matt found a wall to hold up, present but unobtrusive in the way a good guard was. Trevor took over a seat at the table John was sitting at, and the two of them looked over a couple of tablets together, occasionally quietly discussing future plans and requirements. 

Belmont Sr. stayed at his spot on the couch with the excellent sight lines. Eskel alternated between staring at Geralt and pacing back and forth between the bed and the windows. 

The curtains were drawn tightly, but no one made a move to open them and let some sunshine in. Probably so that Geralt might rest as long as possible. Ciri sat with her head bowed over his sleeping form, one hand on Geralt’s chest. Measuring his breaths with her hand. 

Matt’s heart went out to her. She looked worried and tired. Hell, they all looked tired. Even Belmont Sr. had a certain distance to his gaze that suggested his mind was on other things. 

Waiting quietly was part of the job for Matt, so he easily settled into it. He kept an ear on the minimal chatter from his earpiece, keeping him updated on what was going on with the current security detail, all while resting as much as he could while standing up.

After a while, Ciri began to hum. The tune was soft and sad sounding. Slow, like a lullaby. The sound of it made Eskel stop his pacing, and he stood with his back to the room, staring at the drawn curtains. 

After a couple rounds of the melody, Ciri began to sing softly. Her voice was light and lilting, and it sounded almost haunted in the dim room. After the first couple of lines, Eskel joined in. His low growl of a voice adding an extra layer of spookiness to the strange lyrics. 

_Wolves asleepin' 'midst the trees,_  
_Bats all aswayin' in the breeze,_  
_But one soul lies anxious, wide awake,_  
_Fearin' all manner of ghouls, hags and wraiths._  
_For your dolly Polly, sleep has flown,_  
_Don't dare let her tremble alone._  
_For the witcher, heartless cold,_  
_Paid in coin of gold,_  
_He comes, he'll go,_  
_Leave naught behind_  
_But heartache and woe._  
_Deep, deep woe._

Ciri hummed the last bar an extra time, and Eskel turned to stare at Geralt, leaning back onto the window sill behind him. Almost as an afterthought, he flicked out a little throwing knife. Matt nearly jumped out of his skin, but he didn’t get more than a step forward before he realized that Eskel was just flipping it between his fingers. An absentminded habit with a lot of knife fighters, Matt knew. It took a hell of a lot of effort, but Matt settled back against the wall. It helped that neither of the Belmonts looked like this was unusual. 

Eskel sighed heavily, his expression a little sad as he gazed at Geralt’s slow breathing. Despite the more modern clothes, Eskel looked positively demonic in the dim light. The knife flashed in his hand and his eyes shined, almost glowing yellow. 

Then Ciri and Eskel started singing again, like the bars she hummed of the melody were just the standard break between verses.

_Birds are silent for the night,_  
_Cows turned in as daylight dies,_  
_But one soul lies anxious wide awake,_  
_Fearin' all manner of ghouls, hags and wraiths._  
_My dear dolly, Polly, shut your eyes,_  
_Lie still, lie silent, utter no cries._  
_As the witcher, brave and bold,_  
_Paid in coin of gold._  
_He'll chop and slice you,_  
_Cut and dice you,_  
_Eat you up whole._  
_Eat you whole._

As they sang, Ciri patted her father’s chest lightly, as if soothing him deeper into sleep. By the end of that second verse, Matt and John shared a wide eyed and deeply disturbed look. That song was freaky as shit. Spooky didn’t begin to cover it, and the things it implied were even worse.

Witcher. Eskel said he was a witcher, and hearing him sing about cutting up people while flipping a goddamn throwing knife was beyond fucked up. There was a melancholy about him, too, though why that was, Matt couldn’t hazard a guess. 

It wasn’t that the song was graphic or violent that disturbed Matt so much. There were plenty of songs about violence these days. It was the slow, meditative feel to it. The sense of absolute truth to the words. Like the things it was about were as true and unavoidable as night coming after day. The pain and fear implied in every word, imbued into the very essence of what a witcher was, and the ultimate acceptance of that.

Belmont Sr. looked pleased and a bit curious, maybe finding something in that song he liked or at least understood. A little smile quirked at his lips and he watched Eskel with interest.

The most surprising reaction was Trevor, though. He looked both sad and subtly angry. Matt had never seen that particular expression on his boss’ face before. There was just the hint of a frown, both on his lips and in his eyes, and the cast of his shoulders made him look almost resigned. 

Ciri and Eskel actually sang a second round of the song, while the rest of them sat dumb and watched. The silence that followed it was absolute.

Eventually, Belmont Sr. said, “That was a very unusual song.”

“Is it?” Ciri asked, seeming to shake off the somber mood. “It’s just a lullaby.”

“A lullaby,” Trevor said flatly.

“They teach it to all little witchers,” Eskel said, low and soft. He flipped the knife again, tossing it up into the air and not even bothering to look at the blade when he caught it. The sheer skill it took to do that trick alone was ridiculously impressive. “When we arrive as children, or infants as the case may be, long before the Trials. It’s our lullaby, sung in quiet, peaceful nights, tucked into our cribs and beds with practice knives and wooden swords. When we’re older, we learn enough songs to fit in at any tavern, in any country, but that is _our_ song. It’s a lesson, but also a comfort.”

“That song is a comfort?” John asked. His eyes were as wide as dollar coins and his voice was hushed with horror. 

It was a sentiment that Matt one hundred percent agreed with. This guy was a child soldier. Fuck. These two being in some kind of cult was looking more and more likely. 

Although, the Belmonts seemed as surprised by the song as Matt and John. That implied that Trevor and Belmont Sr. had… _acquired_ Geralt and Eskel after whatever fucked up group raised them. Matt was pretty relieved to know that his boss didn’t have anything to do with this deeply messed up little scenario.

Eskel looked both unhappy and a little offended at John’s insinuation. His face soured a little more and he flipped his knife in a more elaborate manner.

“Yes, a comfort. Any time one of us broke a bone or got a nasty stab wound, Vesemir would come by after practice and coddle us a little. Clean us up. Change the bandages, and sing us to sleep. It’s a reminder of childhood, you know?” His gaze went distant again. Remembering, probably, and still casually tossing the knife. “Geralt and I, we learned it together. Played knife games to the lyrics. Kid’s stuff. Passed down from generation to generation of students. When Ciri came to us, we sang it to her, too. Our lullaby.”

He and Ciri shared a small smile. 

“We had little rhymes and songs too in the barracks where we were placed as kids,” Belmont Sr. said unexpectedly. “The older boys liked to teach them to the newcomers to scare the wits out of them.” He shifted on the couch, eyes going unfocused. “The caretakers only cared that we did well in school and on the training grounds.” He shrugged. “With more than fifty of us orphans to a barrack, I guess it was hard for them to keep track anyway.”

Matt was hard pressed not to gape at Belmont Sr.. If he understood those statements correctly, the older Belmont said he was raised as in some kind of military organization, too. Matt looked to his boss, to see how he reacted to that bit of news, but Trevor was looking at his father without surprise. There was curiosity, though, as if he knew the bare facts but didn’t know the details.

“I heard stories,” Trevor said. “That you were amazingly talented. Teachers kept comparing our achievements to yours every time we didn’t quite measure up.” He smiled wryły. “The only songs we were allowed to sing were psalms, though.”

Matt sucked his breath in, not quite believing what he was hearing. Belmont Sr. had to have been a child soldier, just like Eskel and Geralt, though the place he was raised seemed a different one from them. It explained him feeling so connected to the witcher warriors. The fact that Matt’s highly polished and reticent boss was apparently raised in that same place, trained as a child soldier too, was mind boggling. Matt kept glancing back and forth between Trevor and his father, trying to make sense of what he was hearing.

Belmont Sr. shook his head, lips twisting in disgust. “Psalms? Really?”

“I guess they were looking for ways to make us more…loyal…to the brotherhood.”

“Loyal?” Belmont Sr. snarled. “I believed in them the hardest, there was nobody more devoted to the cause than me.” He got up to pace. Anger crackled off of him. “And look how that turned out.”

“The rhymes survived, you know, passed from generation to generation, no matter how hard the teachers tried to make us stop repeating them.”

“Even the horse one?”

Trevor smiled.

“Especially the horse one. We were boys after all.”

Belmont Sr. shook his head.

“It is so strange, to know you walked the same path I did.”

Matt stared, because that? That implied Belmont Sr. didn’t know what happened to his son as a child. What the hell had even happened with this family, and why did Matt have a sinking suspicion that it had heavily influenced the clearly fucked up interaction between them all?

“Sir,” John spoke up hesitantly, sounding unsure but also so completely confused he just couldn't stand it anymore. “Is there something I should know? Anything I need to make sure is not mentioned during any interviews?”

Belmont Sr. made a sharp, dismissive noise. “Those few that might still know the truth, won’t dare make a sound in fear it might bring my attention to them.”

Trevor turned his head to watch his father pace.

“I was taken away from my mother on the day of my birth, before my father even knew of my existence,” Trevor said evenly. He turned to look at John then, eyes calm and steady. “If you are asking if I was a child soldier, the answer is yes. Just like my father was before me.”

“I’m sorry,” John whispered to Trevor, his eyes wide with horror. 

“Don’t be. It wasn’t your fault and it was a long time ago.” He looked to his father again, who was still pacing the room. “And once one gets my Father’s attention, it’s impossible to lose it.”

The older Belmont stopped moving and inclined his head.

“You are mine now,” he said in that rough, low voice of his, full of menace and dark promises. “I will destroy anybody that tries to take you away from me.”

Matt had no doubt that Belmont Sr. was being literal with that threat. But Trevor only nodded, seemingly unsurprised and unmoved by the violent possessiveness.

Having Matt’s suspicions confirmed was much more than he’d ever expected. Maybe Trevor spoke up about it now because the truth was so outlandish nobody would believe it should Matt tell anyone anyway. Trevor Belmont, the elegant, multi-billionaire philanthropist who all but single handedly raised up Castlevania from ruin, a child soldier? Raised in barracks and taught to kill? Who would believe that? 

It also made Matt aware of how differently he needed to plan security around his boss. Up until now, Matt treated Trevor as a civilian; somebody reasonable but ultimately useless in any dangerous situation. Now, it seemed it wasn’t the truth at all.

“Children in such places...” Trevor was speaking again, and turned to look at John. “We came up with strange rituals, ways to comfort ourselves because there was nobody else to do it or show us any better. We were there to be trained, not to be children, as far as the teachers were concerned.”

Eskel nodded. “That is it exactly. That’s why our lullaby is such a comfort. Most didn’t make it through the Trials. Everyone had to train their hardest. There’s no such thing as comfort on the Path. Coddling us would only kill us faster. But we could sing ourselves to sleep.” He smirked. “Vesemir was a bit of a softie.”

“It wasn’t that bad for me,” Ciri said.

“Nah. Girl child? What were we gonna do with you? Train you to be one of us, that’s what. No Trials, and things were different, but you got all the skills. We did our best, though.” Eskel looked at her fondly. “You do us all proud, girl.”

She gave him a wobbly smile in return.

“You were all great. Even Lambert.”

Eskel snorted. “For all his bitching, Lambert would be the first to draw his weapons for you. He’s ridiculously overprotective.”

As a career soldier, Matt knew what it was like to live by violence. But this, how the people here all seemed to share such grim past experiences…it shook him. Each of them had trained from birth to fight and die, with seemingly no regard for self. It was horrifying.

“Do you still fight?” Matt asked his boss. It was mostly morbid curiosity that drove the question, though tactically it would be good to know. Still, he found himself wanting to get a better feel for the kind of man Trevor was. The last day had been too different, driving everything he thought he knew on its head.

“He does.” It was Belmont Sr. that answered.

Matt decided asking Belmont Sr. if he still fought was just a stupid question; it was so very clear that he did, and with relish, too.

“Do you two ever spar?” Matt asked, looking them over with a professional eye. Now that he saw under the careful misdirection of the suit, he could see how the Belmonts could be a match for each other.

Belmont Sr. never looked at Matt. Instead he stilled completely and locked his gaze on his son, strange intensity coming out of him. Trevor stilled completely.

“No. We will never fight each other again,” Belmont Sr. said quietly.

_Again?_

“We practice sometimes. Trevor and I,” Eskel said, looking at Trevor. “Different styles, but fun to share. Drives Geralt crazy.” Eskel shifted his attention to Matt. “I’m curious to see what style you fight with.”

“Mostly Krav Maga,” Matt said. It was an efficient style after all, though Sistema was gaining traction the last few years.

“I’m unfamiliar. You’ll have to show me. Once Geralt wakes up. He’ll wanna see, too.” Eskel tilted his head. “We learned several styles, and we’re always looking for more.”

“I want to see too,” Ciri said, sounding offended. “Why are you excluding me from your dick measuring competition? Is it because I don’t have one?” She blinked huge, wounded eyes at Eskel. “I knew you always wanted a boy,” she finished that off with a loud sniff.

“Aww, I figured you’d want to measure his dick in private,” Eskel said with a shit eating grin. It only lasted for a moment though, then his smile gentled into something more normal. “You’re welcome to join us, though. You could use some more practice fighting a group of attackers.”

Ciri blushed, just a little, but she was so pale it was easy to see even in the dim light of the room. She glared at Eskel. “Should I mention that story I heard about your inseam being measured during that famous shopping trip and how well _that_ went?”

Eskel raised his hands in surrender, but still smirked. “A witcher is the last person who would rain on your fun. There are far too many embarrassing tales to tell. Just be glad Geralt’s not listening in. He’ll start giving the poor man tips.”

Heat burned at Matt’s face, so much so that he ran a hand over his face. “I cannot believe this is up for discussion,” he grumbled.

Eskel shrugged.

“No secrets among people who can smell your interest,” he tapped his nose. “You’ll get used to this eventually.”

Ciri sighed. 

“Keep your nose and your tongue to yourself,” she huffed.

“Awww, but women love my tongue.” He grinned at her.

“All the more reason you should be afraid of losing it,” Ciri said sweetly.

“Fine, fine” he raised his hands again. He looked to the Belmonts. “Either of you wanna join or watch? Nothing like a little blade work to pass the time.”

“I’m definitely interested in watching _and_ joining,” Belmont Sr. said.

“_Vetoed_,” Eskel and Ciri chorused together. 

“You can’t break Trevor’s people, he needs them,” Ciri explained.

Belmont Sr. raised himself like an offended cat.

“It’s like you don’t trust me to limit myself.”

Ciri and Eskel looked at each other incredulously and then back at the older Belmont, with identical expressions of disbelief on their faces. 

“Fine,” Belmont Sr. grumbled. “I will watch only.”

Matt wasn’t ashamed to know that he was just a tiny bit relieved.

“You might need to sit on Geralt to keep him from joining anyways,” Eskel added. “How about you?” He looked to Trevor.

Trevor glanced at Geralt, asleep in his bed, then at Matt, and then at Eskel. Matt knew he was going to refuse when he opened his mouth, but he also could see that Trevor was tempted to agree.

“I won’t join in.”

But Eskel just nodded, like he expected that response as well. “Maybe later, then. And you can always watch. Or send your servant to us.” Eskel nodded at John, who squeaked in alarm. “He could use a little basic skill.”

“Only if he wants,” Trevor said with a smirk. “Not everyone need be as rigorously inculcated with fighting as we are.”

There was a pause where John clearly realized he was the only person in the room who wasn’t trained to fight and kill. Even his gentle boss, a man that two days ago Matt would have sworn had never held a weapon in his life.

“Keep the fighting to this room,” Trevor said after a moment. “It’s spacious enough you could move things around a bit and have enough room for a controlled match. And put someone at the door to make sure no one walks in on you. The last thing we need is some of the hospital staff panicking.”

Matt almost couldn’t believe that his boss was on board with this idea. Then again, if the craziness was at least contained and distracted here, that was one less thing for him to worry about in general.

The alarm on his watch buzzed. Matt’s shift was up. He was sorely tempted to ignore it and stay, but he had already worked incredibly long hours. This hospital stay wasn’t going to be a short one either. He had to plan for stamina.

Earlier he was worried about leaving Trevor alone with his father, but now Matt wasn’t so sure he needed to be concerned. Well, he was still certain that there was the terrible possibility for something violent and bad to happen. Everything Belmont Sr. had said only lent itself to the idea that he was a possessive and temperamental man. One prone to violent outbursts. 

But the way Eskel had fearlessly walked in between father and son earlier was extremely reassuring. Matt couldn’t help the nagging suspicion that if it was down to a one on one fight between himself and Belmont Sr., he would lose and lose badly. Eskel at least had the benefit of being someone that Belmont Sr. seemed to actually listen to.

Maybe that was because of whatever other relationship they had going on? Or maybe that _was_ the relationship; with Eskel acting as an advisor. 

...A very physically close one. 

Yeah, _right_.

Regardless, Matt found himself less worried about leaving them all alone in a room together. 

“Mr. Belmont,” he said, turning to Trevor. “I’m afraid my shift is up. Would you like me to send in someone else to replace me here?”

That made Trevor smile a little. “There is no need. Thank you, though. Please, get some rest. Take John out with you.” John protested immediately, but Trevor held up a hand, cutting off the interruption. “I know how little sleep you’ve gotten. The press briefing isn’t until tonight. Go eat something. Get some sleep. In a _bed_. We can finish this up once you wake.”

John hunched his shoulders a little, but then he nodded and started to gather his papers. 

Before Matt could take more than a single step away, Belmont Sr. said, “Matt. You should arrange your security detail so that your shifts are spent here.” Those red eyes of his seemed to burn for a second, and it was creepy as _fuck_. “I want to see you fight my witcher. And Ciri enjoys watching you.” That last bit was said with a smirk.

Ciri just buried her face in the bed next to Geralt. “Oh Gods, you are just as bad as my father. Whyyy,” she groaned. 

“Because it amuses me,” Belmont Sr. answered easily.

Heat flooded Matt’s face and he licked his lips, buying himself a moment of time. He glanced over toTrevor, who just nodded at him. “Alright,” Matt said. “I’ll see you all after I get some sleep, then.”

If he hurried out of the room after that, no one needed to know that it was because he was afraid of what else might come up. 

John was hot on his heels. As the door shut behind them, they both shared another terrified, horrified, shocked look. 

“If we didn’t have to work in just a few hours, I’d say we should go get drunk,” Matt said quietly. 

John dragged one hand down his face and nodded. “After all this is done. I’ll buy the first round.”

“Deal.” Matt took a breath, and went to find some place to sleep.

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Q: I put in a secret reference to one of my favorite mobster comedy movies of all time, and props to anyone who guesses it.


	5. Chapter 5

There was a moment of silence after Matt and John left, and Eskel listened to the two men promise to get smashed with each other after this was all done. From the look on Dracula and Alucard’s face, they were listening to the same thing. 

Once the sound of their footsteps faded, their attention turned back to the room. Eskel had to wonder if Alucard had fed recently. Dracula certainly had a very faint smell of sex on him, but Eskel hadn’t gotten close enough to Alucard yet to get a good whiff. 

Ciri had warned him that Alucard was trying to pass as human here, and thus was playing things very close to the chest. The last thing Eskel wanted to do was fuck that up, so he’d tried to keep his distance, following Alucard’s cues. 

He could tell they were all a little stressed by it though. Alucard moved like he was tired, and he had a tight, unhappy look about him. Dracula’s energy still churned about the room, the smoldering rage and banked upset all mixed in with the prickling frustration of having nothing to do. 

It was tempting to head over to Dracula and curl up into him. But Ciri was right there. Not that she was watching. Still. It felt weird to be so physically close to someone with an audience there watching. Eskel almost wouldn’t have minded so much if the touching was just sex. That was something his body could do and it felt good. He still wouldn’t be happy with a public viewing, but the embraces he shared with Dracula, Alucard, and sometimes Geralt too, were somehow far more intimate than just sex. They left him feeling vulnerable and cared for. Assailable, perhaps. 

But the longer he looked at Dracula, the more he felt that churning unhappiness. Alucard looked like he wanted to join Dracula, too, but couldn’t quite bring himself too.

More than that, watching Geralt hang so dangerously close to death was deeply upsetting. Geralt was his brother. They’d been friends since they were children. Inseparable while training, and after as well; once they’d started on the Path, they still kept as close as they could. 

Helplessness roiled unpleasantly inside Eskel. 

_Ah, well, fuck it_, he thought, and walked over to the couch. After a moment of contemplation, Eskel sat down next to Dracula, turning a bit and slouching down so that he could rest his back up against Dracula’s side with his head pillowed on Dracula’s shoulder. He made sure to tilt his head a bit to show off the tops of the bite marks still visible over his shirt collar. 

It was obvious how much Dracula liked those visible signs of, well, ownership. They seemed to soothe him a bit. As uncomfortable as the thought made him, Eskel had to admit to himself that he wasn’t opposed to Dracula laying claim to him, especially when it came with such obvious care and concern. Frustrating at times, but still obvious and genuine. 

Sitting there, watching Geralt slowly piece back together his body and balance, Eskel was suddenly incredibly grateful that _someone_ cared about them, and did so with enough vigor to maybe put a little delay on their inevitable deaths. 

After a pause, Dracula shifted.

Eskel felt one of Dracula’s hands worm between the back of the couch and Eskel’s torso. Warm fingers found the edge of Eskel’s shirt and slid under. He shivered at the touch of those calloused fingers over his side, the sensation just bordering on being ticklish. Dracula moved until his hand was resting against Eskel’s belly, with his fingertips curled down enough Eskel could feel the tips of his claws press gently against his abdomen. Trust Dracula to find the creepiest way to cuddle he could.

Eskel made a conscious effort to relax under the tiny blades of Dracula’s claws. If that man wanted to hurt him, there were easier ways to do it than claw his belly open after luring him in for a cuddle.

“You weren’t careful with him.” Alucard sounded chiding as he got up. Eskel blinked his eyes open to see Alucard approaching them. Alucard’s gaze was fixed on Eskel’s neck and the bites just visible under his collar.

When Alucard was close enough, he reached for the collar of Eskel’s shirt. His fingers were cold as they slid under the fabric and pulled it away gently. He was leaning so close over Eskel that the ends of his hair fell down to tickle Eskel’s chest.

“Considering the situation, I was remarkably careful,” Dracula answered, his fingers curling harder against Eskel’s belly.

“I wasn’t helpful either,” Eskel said with a small shrug. He tried to find the right words to explain why he’d egged Dracula on, but came up blank. Ever present was the knowledge that Ciri was there listening. He didn’t want to say too much, didn’t want to expose Dracula’s vulnerable moment to her. Nor did he want to dismiss what happened and the comfort they’d shared. 

So in the end, he just shrugged again and kept his mouth shut.

Eskel slid his eyes to meet Alucard’s and tilted his chin up a little bit, exposing more of his neck.

“You want a taste too?”

He had no idea why he asked it this time. Alucard hadn’t bitten anybody but Dracula as far as Eskel knew. Not even Geralt. But he looked. Looked a lot more than ever before. The fingers against Eskel’s neck were cool and still, and Alucard did not jerk away in denial as he would have before. He looked almost torn, his eyes fixed on Eskel.

Dracula shifted in place. His other hand gently rested on Eskel’s head, tilting it further, and exposing the healing bites in their full glory, as if showing Alucard where to bite.

“Those are fresh still,” Dracula rumbled, slow and seductive. “If you sucked hard enough I bet the new skin would break.”

A rampant shiver raced up Eskel’s spine as he thought about it. He wondered if Alucard would be able to taste his emotions like Dracula did when he fed.

The vampires were looking at each other; the tension was so thick in the air between them that Eskel swallowed and stayed quiet. Both of them were touching him, yet neither of them seemed to pay him any attention. 

“He’s nearly healed,” Alucard said hoarsely. His fingers traced along one of the bite marks, and Eskel held back another shiver. He couldn't help but think of how pleasurable Dracula’s bite was; even though it wasn’t his favorite side effect, it still felt nice. “There wouldn’t be more than a drop or two.”

“He’s willing,” Dracula purred, his hands like iron bands around Eskel. “Aren’t you, Eskel?”

Eskel laughed, hoarsely, shocked by his own willingness.

“Yeah,” he said, swallowing harshly against the sudden dryness on throat. “Wouldn’t have offered otherwise.” He stilled his breathing, painfully aware of how his belly was working against the claws pressed into his skin.

The fingers on his neck rubbed harder for a moment, and then Alucard lifted his hand and brought it to his mouth. He breathed in the scent of Eskel’s healing skin and his eyes glowed softly in the shadow of his loose hair.

“Just taste him,” Dracula was practically purring softly behind him. “He’s already ours anyway.”

Alucard’s eyelids lowered, hiding the gold of his eyes for a moment. His fingers went back to Eskel’s neck, sliding over the healing bites and higher. He spread his fingers out until he was holding Eskel just under his jaw, gripping his neck like the gentlest of vices.

Eskel couldn't quite believe it when Alucard lowered his head, and let his pale lips part slightly. There was the sensation of Alucard’s soft hair on his skin first, and scent of frost and something chemical and fruity wafting up to his nose. Eskel made a noise then, mostly from surprise, as he felt cool lips touch his neck. There was a wet touch next; Alucard’s tongue sweeping over the freshly healed skin.

Dracula exhaled sharply behind him just as Alucard sucked hard at Eskel’s neck. The pressure felt good, a little achy, and woke up the bites in a strange way. Eskel tensed up as echoes of the pleasure Dracula’s bite swelled inside of him. The sensation tingled up his body like a ghost passing him by.

On the off chance that Alucard would be able to taste what he was feeling, Eskel tried to fill himself up with the fact that Alucard was his friend. That he wanted to bring as much peace and comfort as he could, for no other reason than he wanted to see his friend happy and whole.

He had no idea how long it lasted, or if Alucard broke the skin or not. All he was aware of was the harsh sucking, the cool lips on his skin, and the occasional wet swipe of tongue. 

When Alucard broke off and raised his head from Eskel’s neck, Eskel realized he was panting. The only thing keeping him from squirming in place was Dracula’s hand pressed flat to his belly.

Alucard’s eyes were blown wide; the gold was just a narrow line around his pupils. His lips were wet and plush. He was breathing hard, too. 

Dracula let go of Eskel’s head and reached for Alucard. With a fierce looking grip, he grabbed ahold of his son’s hair and pulled him up. Then he was kissing Alucard, hard and hungry, obviously fucking him with his tongue. A rough, needy little noise escaped Alucard’s mouth. He flailed his arms for a second before bracing his hands on Dracula’s knees and pushed back into the kiss.

Eskel was so close to them. He could feel their bodies move together, hear every soft little sound, and smell the fierce want pouring off of them. He was still resting against Dracula, and Alucard was now pressed close to him, too. It was kind of wonderful to be held between them like that. Overwhelming in a way that left him feeling flustered and confused.

He straightened, fighting to keep his body under control. Tried to push the multitude of sensations away and get ahold of himself. It only took the barest turn of his head to catch sight of Dracula doing his best to eat Alucard. 

That didn’t help him calm down one gods-be-damned bit, so he turned his eyes to the other occupant of the room. Ciri was wedged sideways into the chair by Geralt’s bed. Her green eyes were wide as they met his in the dim light of the room.

Eskel thought quickly. Dracula didn’t give a damn who watched him, but Alucard was more private. Whatever was motivating Alucard right now, the last thing anyone wanted was for him to feel embarrassed about this later. Besides, Eskel really didn’t want to be next to them while they fucked.

He snaked his hand under his own shirt to take hold of Dracula’s hand on his belly.

It was a mistake.

The moment his fingers curled around Dracula’s, the older vampire backed away from the fierce kiss he was sharing with Alucard and looked down at Eskel. His red eyes were burning as bright as flames. Eskel just had the time to think, _oh shit_, and then Dracula was pulling his head to the side and bending down to bite. 

There was no hesitation. He just opened his mouth wide and bit right over the place where Alucard had sucked what felt like an enormous hickey into Eskel’s neck. Dracula’s fangs went in fast and deep, breaking flesh almost painlessly. Pleasure burned through Eskel at the first, hard suck, almost painful in its intensity. It lit up his body, hardening his cock so fast he gasped and tried to curl up in reaction. He couldn’t move at all, though. Not with how Dracula held him still. His heart beat frantically and he clamped down on Dracula’s hand on his stomach.

Dracula took only a mouthful. His fangs pulled out almost as soon as they went in. Then he was reaching for Alucard again. He pressed his mouth to Alucard’s, making the younger vampire gasp. Alucard flinched and then moaned again, and a tiny drop of blood escaped from between their tightly connected lips.

Eskel closed his eyes for a moment and took a breath, centering himself. This couldn’t happen here, not in front of Ciri, and definitely not on top of him. Probably involving him.

“Ciri,” Eskel panted out, grabbing hold of Alucard’s jacket and pulling. “Ciri is here,” he repeated, making sure Alucard heard him. He knew Dracula probably didn’t care, but Alucard was a different animal.

Alucard pulled himself away from the kiss. There were traces of blood on his pale lips, and a little bit was smeared over his chin. He was panting even harder than before, and his eyes were dark and wide. His hands were clenched hard into Dracula’s clothes and it clearly took a bit of time before Eskel’s words penetrated. A blush showed up high on his cheeks and over the tops of his pointed ears. He’d been covering them with his hair while the humans were around, but now that his hair was loose and wild, they peeked out through the thick locks. 

Dracula didn’t seem to be bothered by Eskel’s words. He kept mouthing at Alucard’s jaw and then down lower to his neck, obviously intent on devouring his son now that he had in him his grasp.

When Alucard pulled away from him, Dracula growled. Low and threatening, the sound shuddered through the room like a thunder.

“Not here,” Alucard whispered. “Not where they can see.”

“Where.” Dracula let himself be pushed back. His hair was a mess, with strands falling into his face and almost drifting off of him like wisps of shadow. It did nothing to obscure his glowing red eyes.

“Bathroom.” Alucard pointed to the smaller door to the left of the entrance.

Dracula turned his eyes from Alucard to Eskel. The corner of his lips pulled up in a smirk that sent a shiver down Eskel’s back.

“You did good today,” he said roughly, sliding his hand away from Eskel's belly and reaching for his head again. His fingers tangled hard into Eskel’s hair, pulling most of it out of his ponytail in the process, and pulled it back. “So good,” he rumbled and darted in again, fast as a snake. 

He bit down, on the other side of Eskel’s neck than before, fangs breaking skin unerringly. 

“Fuck,” Eskel gasped just before his eyes all but rolled back at the pleasure being forcefully poured into his body. It burned, scorched him from the inside as Dracula drank. Once, twice, three times he swallowed deeply, only to pull away after. With each mouthful, overwhelming pleasure slammed into Eskel like a hammer smashing him flat.

Then Dracula burst into shadows, reformed behind the couch, and walked with quick, purposeful steps towards the other door.

Alucard made an effort to look at Eskel, to say something. He even opened his mouth, but his eyes slid away from Eskel to stare after Dracula, and then he, too, was moving. He rose up from his half crouch and was at the bathroom door seconds after Dracula, pushing it open and slamming it closed behind them the moment they were inside.

Eskel lay panting on the couch. After watching the door to the bathroom for a second, he dropped his head backwards and covered his face with both hands. He had to get himself at least a little under control. 

He took three heavy shuddering breaths before he rolled up to sitting, head bowed down and elbows resting on his knees. His cock was achingly, awfully hard, and at least this position covered that up a bit. Want and embarrassment burned through him, and he just knew that Ciri was staring at him. 

The soft trickle of fluid down both sides of his neck reminded him that he was still fucking bleeding from Dracula’s ungentle bites. He rubbed a hand through his loose hair and held his head. 

“Wow,” Ciri said in a hushed kind of voice.

There was a loud thump and a crash from behind the bathroom door.

Both of them turned to look and then both of them averted their eyes, not wanting to actually see what was happening there.

“Are you alright?” Ciri asked quietly.

Eskel nodded, still not sure about his voice. He ran his fingers through his hair again, and forcefully settled his own heartbeat. 

A couple of moments went by, and he said very quietly, “Alucard needs to feed more. It won’t kill him if he doesn’t. Not much will, I think. But…it’s not good for him.”

The bright hot fire in his cheeks didn’t fade. He was still so damn embarrassed about Ciri seeing any of this. But it had felt right when he offered. Alucard’s hand was so cold against his skin, and the man had worked so hard the last couple of days. Eskel wanted to comfort him the way he’d comforted Dracula. Ease some of that awful tension and give them all some peace. 

“Doesn’t he…” she trailed off, obviously looking for words. “Drink from my father? Or…you?” 

“No. Not yet.” Eskel shrugged. “He won’t drink from humans. He only drinks from Dracula and even that is not a regular occurrence. From what I gather, Dracula has to maneuver him into feeding each time. He starves himself more often than not.”

The body-wide pleasure was starting to fade. He couldn’t quite stand up without further embarrassment yet, but at least his breathing was more even. Cooling sweat prickled on his skin, and he was struck by a sudden chill. The flimsy cotton of the button up shirt he was wearing suddenly didn’t seem like nearly enough. He chafed his arms for a moment and thought about his options. If his neck looked bad before, it must look wrecked now. Not something that the hospital staff could see if Alucard wanted to keep his nature a secret. 

“How does my neck look?” he asked eventually. 

“Like you just got mauled by two vampires,” Ciri said flatly. She paused a moment, and then added, “Gently mauled. There isn’t much ripping.”

Eskel sighed.

“Dracula is more careful, usually.”

“...Well that’s good.” Ciri still sounded mildly uncertain though, like she hadn’t quite decided on what to think of the whole scene laid out in front of her.

A few more breaths and Eskel finally felt calmer. No less embarrassed though. Fuck, just because Dracula didn’t mind who saw him put his mouth on people didn’t mean that everyone else was alright with it. Eskel grimaced and fished out a Swallow potion from where he’d stashed it in one of the pockets on his new pants.

“Stupid flimsy clothes. Donno why we couldn’t just keep our armor on,” he grumbled to himself. Then he bit the cork off the potion, and downed the red liquid in one go. 

“Would you really want to be in armor when they…did that to you?” she asked, one eyebrow raising.

Eskel raised an eyebrow back at her, and thought about the question. “Depends, I guess. They’re just biting. If we were somewhere safer…” He looked around the room. “This city feels wrong. And there are too many people in this building. If we were home back at Kaer Morhen, or even at the castle, I wouldn’t mind being out of armor so much. But here.” He shook his head. 

“I think you look good in them,” Ciri offered, still sounding uncertain. 

“Aww, Ciri, you know nothing’s gonna make me look good, not with a face like this.” Despite the words, Eskel’s cheeks heated up with pleasure at the compliment. He thought Ciri was just being kind, but it was still nice to hear such things once in a while.

“Clearly, they think otherwise,” she pointed out.

He looked at her, tilting his head in confusion and narrowing his eyes. “They’re not looking at me.” 

Sure, the vampires saw him; they noticed when he was there. But they weren’t looking at how attractive he was in his new clothes. 

Then it hit him. She was still thinking it was a sex thing. 

He rubbed his face again, hiding his eyes. “Arggh, Ciri. It’s not like that. They’re not _interested_ in me like that, and I certainly don’t want that from them. We’re just…close.” He waved his hands about. “This is not sexual.”

That got her to raise both her eyebrows at him and then look pointedly down to his covered lap and back up again.

“Clearly,” she drawled.

He hunched his shoulders further, and frowned. “Unavoidable side effect of the biting.”

“Eskel,” she said gently, as if talking to a child. “You know as well as me and any other witcher anywhere that vampire bites are not pleasurable. It’s just a myth. Now, if those bites feel good, it must be by design, not by nature.”

Now he looked back at her, eyes a bit wide. Something trembled inside of him, and he struggled to find anything he could say.

“I saw texts describing the war this city fought with Dracula in the past,” she said, pressing on. “It was stated clearly and without doubt that his bites were not only deadly, but absolutely horrifying and painful.”

He ducked his head again, unable to think of anything to defend himself. He damn well knew that Dracula’s bites felt fucking amazing because the man wanted them to feel that way. What could Eskel say to that? That he preferred it to feel good, rather than it be like every fucking thing else in their lives? Painful and cold?

Eskel stood up and stalked to the door, and briefly debated about leaving. He could just go up to the roof and sit for a while. But the whole point of being there was to check on Geralt, to keep Dracula and Alucard safe and balanced. 

He couldn’t leave yet. But he was very done talking about this.

He put his back to the door and slid down to sitting, propping up his arms on his knees, his head tucked down. Maybe Ciri would get the hint and leave him the fuck alone. 

The silence of the room was broken suddenly by another series of loud thumps coming from behind the closed door, followed by what was definitely a loud groan.

Eskel ran a hand through his hair and pulled it tight, letting that little bit of pain be a replacement for the bad things he really wanted to do.

_I fucking hate my life,_ he thought miserably. 

Only that wasn't true anymore. His life now was better than it had ever been before. Something he was missing for all his years was fulfilled now. The vulnerability of the close contact with Dracula and Alucard was so worth it to feel accepted and taken care of. 

He did hate the situation he was in right now, with Geralt down for the count, and Ciri watching him with those wide eyes and thinking god knows what. That there were people seeing what should be only between him and the vampires.

The soft beeping from one of the things Geralt was hooked up to sped up. It was his heartbeat, Eskel realized, raising from the slow thrum of deep meditation to something more normal.

“Ciri?” Geralt slurred from the bed, his head turning towards his daughter. 

Eskel straightened, watching as Geralt took much longer than usual to come out of his healing trance. That was something Eskel knew that both Dracula and Alucard would want to be in the room for. 

He stood up slowly, because gods, he felt like he’d been run through a wringer. 

“I’m here,” Ciri said, reaching for Geralt’s face and kissing his cheeks. “I brought Eskel.”

Eskel waved at them, then let his hand drop like a stone. He kind of felt like shit. It was good to see Geralt awake though. 

It took Geralt a moment to find Eskel with his eyes, and then blink at him several times. 

He frowned.

“...Were you having fun?” he asked eventually, his eyes settling on Eskel’s neck. Or maybe on the bloodstains on his collar, since the bites had already healed.

Eskel snorted, disgruntled. “Me? Not as such. Them?” He pointed to the closed bathroom door. “Yeah.” 

Geralt looked to Ciri.

“Was he having fun?”

“Yes,” she said because she was merciless and ruthless like any witcher anywhere.

“Damn it,” Geralt said mournfully. “I bet they won’t want to bite me for days on end after the surgery. Gods know what I would taste like anyway.” He sank into the bed unhappily.

Eskel hung his head, and now he really wanted to run to the roof. The best he could do was turn around and rest his forehead on the door.

“Alucard? Dracula?” Geralt asked after a moment.

“They’re probably still busy fucking,” Eskel said, feeling grumpy.

“Again?!” Geralt sounded horrified. “And without me?!”

“How are you surprised?” Ciri asked. “You know them.”

“Actually,” Geralt said after a moment. “That is surprising. At least for Alucard.”

“It’s been a goddamn weird couple of days.” Eskel took a breath, and forced himself to be functional again. He walked over to the bathroom door and gave it a good hard knock. “Geralt’s awake, and asking for you,” he said to the door. “Pretty sure the nurses are gonna be in here soon, wanting to check his...whatever the hell he’s hooked up to. You might want to finish up.”

After that, he stalked over to the far wall and leaned on it, crossing his arms. Better to just stay out of the way. He wished he had his armor and his swords. They would have been a comfort. Whatever look Ciri was giving him, he completely ignored. 

He could see Geralt looking back and forth between Ciri and Eskel, but before anything more could be said, Dracula and Alucard came back into the room. Both looked reasonably well put together, which wasn’t much of a surprise. They weren’t out of the room for that long. The scent of sex and come tickled at Eskel’s nose, so he knew damn well they had enough time for at least _someone_ to get off. Eskel could actually feel the satisfaction radiating off of Dracula, and Alucard’s cheeks were still flushed pink. More than that, there was still the faint smell of Eskel’s blood in the air, too. 

As soon as they came in sight of the bed, Geralt smiled, though the expression still looked a little weak. 

“You look better,” Alucard was the first to speak, going to the bed to lean over it and look at Geralt. “Much better.”

Geralt snorted softly, and closed his eyes. “I feel so much worse.”

Right as Dracula reached the bed, he frowned and turned to Eskel, tilting his head in confusion. 

_Damn him and his perceptiveness_. Eskel hunched a little farther down and looked away, face burning. This was stupid. Dracula shouldn’t be looking at him at all. He should be happy with Geralt waking up, not bothering with Eskel’s bullshit.

Now he felt stupid on top of embarrassed and exposed.

Then Dracula was there in front of him, one hand on Eskel’s neck. He lingered there long enough to feel the smooth, newly healed skin. Then he threaded his fingers up into Eskel’s hair in just the right way. After months of spending time cuddling Eskel close, Dracula knew exactly how to make him melt the fastest, and this was definitely the start of it.

But standing there, knowing that Ciri was watching them, judging him, only increased his hurt and unhappiness. He wanted to run, to be alone for a while. Trying to get out of the room would do him no damn good, though. Dracula would just give chase, and right now Geralt needed his lovers around him. So Eskel just ducked his head away from Dracula’s hand and stared at the floor.

Dracula just pressed closer, pinning him to the wall. But he wasn’t looking at Eskel. He was looking over his shoulder to stare back at where Ciri stood next to Geralt.

“What did you do?” Dracula’s voice was cold, and he curled his hand around the base of Eskel’s skull. Almost protectively.

“She didn’t say, do, anything,” Eskel said quietly, not wanting to further escalate the unhappiness. Still, he was struck by how nice it was that Dracula actually cared, and how good the hand in his hair felt. A little of the tension left him and he tucked his head down into Dracula’s shoulder, hiding his face from view.

Dracula just hummed low in his throat, clearly not convinced. But he started threading his fingers through Eskel’s hair, and Eskel felt a little more tension drain out of him under the soft movement. 

“Ciri, what happened?” Geralt asked, sounding confused and a little alarmed. 

Before she could say anything, Eskel jumped in. “Nothing. Nothing happened. It's fine. I’m just tired.” And upset. And fucking stupid. He didn’t even know why he was so bothered by it all.

Before anyone else could say anything, there was a knock at the door. Realizing the position he was in, Eskel’s misery deepened. 

“Not in front of more people,” he said softly.

Dracula hummed unhappily again, but backed away. He left his hand on Eskel’s neck, though, and Eskel took a moment to ruthlessly cut off his body’s reactions, shoving his upset down into a dark hole. He forced his face blank and his heart rate down, and settled into an easy tensed relaxedness. It was the same state he settled his body into before a fight. Loose, but focused. He looked up to see a room full of faint frowns.

There was another knock.

“Come in,” Alucard called out.

A couple of nurses bustled in. While Dracula’s hand on Eskel’s neck got a couple of sideways looks, they were fleeting. Alucard carefully took Dracula’s armored coat off of Geralt and held onto it while the nurses went about their checks. 

After a few minutes of quietly changing fluid bags and checking bandages, another man walked in. He wore a long white coat and had on loose, dark blue clothes underneath, similar to what the nurses wore. 

“Good morning, Geralt,” he said with an easy smile. “How are you feeling?”

“Dr. Miller,” Geralt waved a few fingers in greeting. “Terrible.”

Dr. Miller looked to Ciri and Eskel, then did a double take at Eskel’s eyes. “Family?”

“My brother and daughter. They can stay.” Geralt looked faintly amused.

“Alright. Well, we’re gonna check those incisions again and, I’m sure, cut out a few hundred more stitches.” The doctor leaned over one of the areas where a nurse had just taken a bandage off. “This looks amazingly healed. Swelling is down, bruising color is coming along.” 

He hummed, and put on a thin white glove, then pressed into some of the wounds. Holy fuck, but Geralt looked like a damn mess. Like they’d sewn him together from a pile of parts. The heavy scent of blood, lymph fluid, fresh scar tissue, old potions, and poison wafted off of him. Eskel’s lip curled up at the smell of it, and anger coiled up inside of him at the people who did this. He shoved that all down, too, and forced himself to be impassive. 

“Mmm, yup,” Dr. Miller continued, gently pressing. “This looks very progressed. Even at the rate you’re healing, these deeper incisions are going to take a while to set and granulation tissue to grow in. I think we should leave the staples in on this chest incision in for another twelve hours at least. Maybe longer, we’ll have to see how you’re healing. It would be very bad for that wound to open up again.”

“Can I eat anytime soon?” Geralt asked. Ciri snorted, and Alucard looked faintly amused. 

“If you were any other patient I’d tell you where you could put that question.” He gave Geralt a slightly sour look. “But as it is, based on your healing…” he sighed. “I’m gonna tentatively say pureed foods would be alright. Eat very slowly, and drink lots of liquids. We sewed up several holes in various parts of your digestive system. Even as advanced as the healing is, you don’t wanna tax those organs.”

“My aide set up food to be delivered as soon as needed,” Alucard said. “All we need to do is let my staff know we’re ready for it.”

After that, the doctor and nurses proceeded to pick out a fair number of stitches, cleaning and rebandaging as they went. The whole time, Dracula kept his hand on Eskel’s neck, rubbing small circles into the skin there with his thumb. It felt unreasonably good, and Eskel found himself relaxing bit by bit, despite himself. 

“The bones all look pretty good, too,” Dr. Miller said once they were done. “Based on the swelling, bruising, and what I could feel as we were changing the bandages. It’s been just shy of twenty-four hours. You said your fingers might be useable by now, but not completely healed. How are they feeling?” He picked up one of Geralt’s hands and gently moved the bruised, splinted fingers around.

Geralt furrowed his brow in effort and the very tips of his fingers moved. “Doesn’t hurt too bad. Can’t even really feel it over the painkiller, anyways. I feel weak, though. Tired.”

“That's normal. Your strength should come back as you recover. What that process will look like, well, I think we’ll know more as we progress.” Dr. Miller cast a critical eye over Geralt’s body once more, and shook his head. “Amazing. I think we can skip x-rays until later today. For now I’d like for you to get some liquids into you and rest. Use the bed to help you sit up, and someone else here holds whatever you’re drinking for you. No strain _at all_ on those healing wounds.” 

He gave Geralt the hairy eyeball, and then turned to Eskel. 

“You have blood on your shirt collar.”

“I do,” Eskel agreed evenly. 

The doctor gave a short start at his voice, and then squinted at him, eyeing his neck and Dracula’s hand that still rested on it. “Are you still injured, or otherwise in need of medical attention?”

“No.”

He glowered at Eskel for a moment and then pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. Then he walked out. 

Alucard settled Dracula’s coat back onto Geralt’s lap, and pressed a button on the bed. Geralt, Ciri, and Eskel all blinked in surprise as the top half of the bed began to slowly rise up, gently easing Geralt into a sitting position. 

“Handy,” Geralt said, and dug one hand into the collar of Dracula’s coat. 

Eskel caught Dracula’s gaze, and jerked his chin over in Geralt’s direction. “Go on. I’m gonna go get the food on its way.”

Whether or not Dracula went to go see Geralt, Eskel didn’t know, but he made no move to stop Eskel from walking away.

Eskel poked his head out of the door, and made eye contact with the guard there. “Which one of you should I let know that we’re ready for food?”

“I can relay that message, sir,” the man said. Like all of Matt’s people, this guy looked like a reasonably attentive guard. Fit, alert, and armed. _What_ he was armed with, Eskel wasn’t sure, but he was more than a little curious to find out. Maybe when Matt woke back up they’d get a demonstration.

“Thanks,” Eskel said with a nod, and shut the door again. He stayed there for a moment, settling himself. He could deal with his shit on his own time.

When he walked back to the bedside, Geralt was mid-explanation.

“...Supposedly had a signed decree from the head of their Order Grandmaster, but I know Siegfried, and he’s a good man. That doesn’t sound like him at all. We met in Vizima some time ago, back when Jacques de Aldersberg was the Grandmaster.” Geralt shook his head and frowned. “That guy I could believe would want me dead, but I already killed him. Had to fight Siegfried to get to him, but that wasn’t personal and we both knew it. Now…well, he’s kept the Order killing monsters, but they’re still branching out. Some of the Order very much preferred hunting down anything with a whiff of non-human about them, and others followed the teachings of the Eternal Light more closely.”

“Do you think there’s been a schism?” Ciri asked, leaning forward in her chair. “Could they have been misled?”

“Anything is possible.” Geralt tilted his head in a half shrug. “Who would bother though? That’s a hell of a lot of knights just to hunt me down.”

Ciri looked torn a moment. “It’s possible that someone got wind of your involvement in Novigrad.”

“Ah. Fuck. One of the leaders of the Redania Regency Council sort of hates my guts.” Geralt winced. 

Ciri blinked. “Since when?”

“While you were in school,” Eskel piped up, “Dijkstra, head of Redanian Secret Service at the time, discovered the identity of your birth parents. He came a-looking for you. Geralt and Yennefer stopped him. That whole thing ended in a bit of a clusterfuck. Didn’t realized the man had made it onto the Regency Council.”

Geralt nodded. “The other council leader is Philippa Eilhart, head of the Lodge of Sorceresses. I haven’t met her, but Triss and Yennefer both know her. Whether or not they’re actually friends or are just pretending to be friends, I can never keep track. I try to stay out of sorceress business.”

“They did say they had suspicions about Redania being involved, but didn’t tell me their source,” Ciri mused. “But Redania isn’t the only group who could benefit from this, and if one group of spies could fake an order from a Grandmaster, another easily could as well.”

“You’re thinking of Nilfgaard.” Geralt sounded certain.

Ciri nodded. “They are meddling, pushing at every place they can. So much so that the Lodge hasn’t been able to track where all the threads tangle. Not only that, but Vesemir looked at the poison on the arrows they took out of you. It’s not uncommon, but it is found mostly in the south.”

“Temeria borders Nilfgaard. Trade still happens through there, though much of it is black market,” Eskel said, tapping his fingers against his arm. “They could have just bought it.”

“But the Order of the Flaming Rose doesn’t usually bother with poison arrows. Once they go hunting something, they tend to make a show of it, show off how good their blades are,” Geralt said.

“Plus, purchasing enough poison to supply that many men.” Ciri raised an eyebrow. “That’s not a light decision.”

“They could have had someone make it for them. The Viper school is down there.” Eskel hadn’t really run into many of the Viper witchers, so he couldn’t say if they were as psychotic as the Cat school. 

“From what I heard the Viper school isn’t really doing all that well. Nilfgaard refuses witchers entry into any cities. As far as I know, they’re not hunting the witchers, but they are making life impossible for them.”

“Fuck. That’s not good news for them.” Eskel winced in sympathy. “Even witchers can get desperate. I don’t know much about them, though. Cats, they’d hunt anyone and anything for a price. Wolf never would. We hunt monsters only.” He rolled his eyes. “And whoever is stupid enough to try and attack us.”

“There are plenty of people who could brew that poison,” Geralt said. “Considering the rumors about Nilfgaardian Secret Police and their Emperor’s drive to secure any and all possible advantages, I wouldn’t be surprised if they collected knowledge of rare poisons just to have them handy.” He hifting a little on the bed, clearly looking for a comfortable position and not finding it judging by the tired sigh.

Ciri grabbed a cup of water with some kind of white tube in it, and held it up for Geralt to sip at. “I admit, I wasn’t really expecting to get to the bottom of this right now. But I’m glad I was able to talk with you anyways.”

“How many were there actually?” Geralt asked, after sucking some of the water through that straw. Eskel had to admit it looked handy, so much easier than trying to deal with an open cup.

Ciri side-eyed Dracula for a moment. “Triss, Yennefer, and I looked through all the Order barracks, scrying. So far every single one in South West Temeria is empty. If there were twenty to thirty men in each, you were looking at maybe two hundred men. Maybe more.”

“Why couldn’t you just investigate the bodies?” Geralt asked with a frown. “You might have learned more, maybe got some written orders or other missives.”

The silence that followed that question was profound. 

“Geralt,” Dracula said almost gently. “My Chaos power eats through enchanted armor as if it was paper, you think some flesh and bone would manage to survive?” Dracula shrugged. “There are no bodies.”

“There’s no _nothing_,” Ciri added, lips tight. “The land has been scorched to bare earth.”

Dracula looked pleased with himself.

Geralt took a breath and held it for a moment. Then he looked Dracula in the eye, calm as could be. “I’m glad you killed them all. And I don’t give a shit about the forest being destroyed.” He swallowed. “How far did you get before you stopped?”

“We caught up to him before he reached the first city,” Eskel said, side-eyeing Dracula. “The inhabitants probably already saw the darkness coming in, but they hadn’t seen Dracula.”

A tiny smile tugged at Geralt’s lips. “You moved slow enough that they could see you coming.” The smile grew a little. “Fuck, I wish I could move to properly thank you.”

Eskel shuddered, remembering the Hell on Earth that Dracula made of that forest, with the ash floating thick in the air and the heat so unbearable that it burned his skin within seconds. 

That was the first time he’d ever seen Dracula as a god, not just a powerful vampire. Dracula usually did very well at appearing mostly normal. Even with the way he easily used his power around people, he still looked and acted human. In that forest, he abandoned all such pretenses and was just power incarnate. Eskel had no idea why he’d came up with the ridiculous idea to hug Dracula then or how in the hell it had worked, but he was grateful it did. He didn’t even want to think what would have happened had Dracula reached the city.

“Call for help earlier next time,” Alucard said, sounding chiding and colder than usual. “Don’t wait ‘til it’s too late.”

Geralt looked down, abashed. “I tried. I ran a bit, but it wasn’t a problem. I was free and damn clear by the time I called the first portal. Hell, I still had my horse then. Some arrows stuck in us both, sure, and a few scrapes and cuts, but nothing a round of potions wouldn’t fix. But the mage they had with them.” He shook his head, and swallowed hard. “It was like they were watching for it. The portal dropped before I could even get to the Wolf, and then they just got closer. Every time I opened it they found my direction and it was harder to run.”

“The Wolf portals open in places naturally suited for that purpose, places where ancient connections between worlds exist,” Alucard explained. “They can’t open just anywhere. There has to be a proper amount of natural power and ambient shadows around. Since they lead to a dark place, there can’t be too much light power around. Their purpose is to protect the traveller, so they will close by themselves if conditions change enough travel wouldn't be safe for the traveller.” 

Geralt stared at the coat on his lap. “I’m sorry.” 

“For what?” Dracula asked, watching Geralt with unreadable eyes.

“For cutting things so damn close. For nearly dying on you all. If I’d been smarter about the whole damn thing none of this would have happened. I should have just tried to get to you the first chance I could. If I’d gotten to you sooner, I wouldn’t have been so hurt and you wouldn’t have been so angry. I just thought...everything that dies around me, that’s on me.” His face twisted into a pained grimace. 

Eskel rubbed his face. Geralt and his stupidly large heart. How anyone thought that witchers were heartless when confronted with Geralt, Eskel had no idea.

“It’s not your fault somebody set a trap for you,” Ciri said, leaning closer to Geralt. “It’s theirs. They chose a side when they decided to hunt you down like some kind of animal.” She shrugged. “They didn’t count on you having any support, but that’s on them. Next time don’t cut it quite so close, and all will be well, right?” She looked at Alucard and then, briefly at Dracula. “No rampaging then?”

Alucard looked at Dracula and then back to Ciri, raising his hand with thumb and forefinger almost touching. “Maybe just a smidge.”

Dracula huffed but didn’t oppose his son’s statement.

Rather than answering, Geralt hung his head a little farther. A difficult task considering how injured he was, to be sure. Eskel knew damn well what was going through his mind, and he was having none of it. 

He walked over to Geralt’s side and lifted up his chin so they could look each other in the eye. “Geralt. You’re fine. You’re not dead. We’re not dead. No one anyone gives a shit about is dead. If you want, after this we’ll get blackout drunk and have a good row about it. But quit fucking blaming yourself for every damn bad thing that happens around you. Leave the sulking to Lambert, he’s better at it.”

“You’re grumpy today,” Geralt said, watching Eskel with wide eyes.

“That’s my default setting,” Eskel growled and then jumped when he felt Dracula’s hand on his head, patting him like he was a goddamn cat.

“It is true,” Dracula said, still running his hand over Eskel’s hair. “He is often grumpy.” He sounded very…fond of that actually. Eskel gave him a hairy eyeball. “I think it’s cute,” Dracula announced after he caught the glower.

Heat flooded Eskel’s face and he ducked his head a little, which only meant he got a good look at Geralt’s smirk. “Argh,” he grumbled under his breath and took a step back. What Ciri said rang back through his head, about how both Dracula and Alucard seemed to find him appealing. He didn’t know what to do with that, especially in light of Dracula calling him _cute_. 

The idea of fleeing the room once again sounded pretty ridiculously good, but Dracula’s hand was still on his head, running through his hair. It felt awfully nice. He glanced towards the door, and debated. 

The hand in his hair changed, clawed tips on Dracula’s fingers pressing gently against his scalp in mute warning that Dracula was a predator and should Eskel try to run, Dracula would hunt him down. A tiny shiver raced up Eskel’s spine, then he sighed quietly. 

Out of options, the only other thing he wanted to do was lean right into Dracula’s hand. Or maybe lean into Dracula in general. But he very much didn’t want to do that with Ciri watching. He was well and truly full up on additional commentary about what he should be doing or feeling about whatever he, Dracula, and Alucard did together. 

“Now that I told you everything I remember,” Geralt looked up at Alucard through his lashes, trying hard to look cute. He failed, but given all the bandages, that wasn’t too much of a surprise. “Can I get a kiss?”

Alucard smiled, leaning down to fulfill that request.

“Yes.”

Alucard’s hair covered most of what happened next, falling in a silvery curtain around him and Geralt. Eskel could hear the faint, wet sounds of a kiss that Alucard obviously tried to keep gentle. Geralt’s hand closed on Alucard’s forearm, keeping him in place.

“And a bite?” Geralt asked, looking at Dracula once Alucard pulled up.

“_No_,” Alucard, Dracula, and Ciri chorused together, frowning at Geralt.

Eskel just snorted and rolled his eyes. “Step one, stop bleeding on accident, then maybe they’ll consider making you bleed on purpose.”

Geralt just sighed softly, like he expected that answer but had to try anyways. “Kiss?” He looked hopeful up at Dracula again.

“Yes,” Dracula said with a smile, abandoning Eskel to move closer to Geralt. "I'm glad to see you awake again," Dracula murmured as he leaned down. His kiss wasn’t nearly as careful as Alucard's. He used one hand to tilt Geralt’s face for better access and proceeded to fuck Geralt with his tongue---slow, deep, and wet.

While they kissed, Eskel wandered over to the door. The food would probably be here any minute. Ciri got up to meet him, clearly angling to chat with him while the others were occupied.

“Whatever I said---” she started softly.

“Forget it,” Eskel interrupted harshly. “It doesn’t matter.”

She frowned at him unhappily. “...Alright. Now that I’ve had a chance to talk with Geralt, I’m headed back. I’ve got to meet up with Triss and Yennefer, and see where this goes. Do you want to go with me? I can drop you at Kaer Morhen, or you could come with me to meet up with them.”

Truthfully, Eskel wasn’t really even that tempted. He wasn’t particularly good at intrigue, or even politics in general, and he knew damn well he’d go bonkers waiting in Kaer Morhen with nothing but Vesemir and Night’s antics to keep him company. 

So he pretty quickly shook his head. “I’ll stay here for a bit. Come back to check on us when you can, though. Now that Geralt’s awake he’s gonna be climbing up the walls from boredom.” He smirked at her. “And you have a pretty guard to woo.”

Ciri blushed.

“What did I say about your nose?” she grumped.

“I’m being helpful,” he mock-protested, happy at least that things had settled between the two of them. 

She growled playfully at him.

“Don’t break Matt while I’m gone.”

“...I won’t break anything you’ll want to use,” Eskel offered. When she just glared harder at him, he threw up his hands. “Fine, fine. Maybe only a little bending.”

“Don’t get over-excited old man, your heart may give out,” she grumped, hitting him none too gently on his arm. Damn, he knew he should have insisted on keeping the armor. The shirt was no protection at all.

“Ahhh, but witchers are heartless, so I’m safe on that front.” He grinned at her, refusing to show even a wince at her punch to his arm.

“Take care,” he said, sobering up. “Don’t let yourself be caught in a trap. If somebody hunted Geralt down so brazenly, they can do it to any of us.”

Ciri nodded.

“I’ll find Lambert and tell him to be careful.”

“Good girl,” Eskel said quietly, and gave her a hug. He hoped very much that whatever powers had decided to move against Geralt wouldn’t bother to look any further. Their little family was small enough already.

Then he looked to where the vampires were both crowded around the bed and Geralt, and amended his previous thought. Their little family seemed to be growing. He thought of the sex demons, Iga, Eyra, and Ian, back at Kaer Morhen, and how lived-in the keep felt again. Even Night messing around in the garden had a strange flavor of nostalgia to it. Because now there was someone there to cause trouble at all. 

“I like what they did to our lives,” Ciri said unexpectedly. When he looked at her, she was staring at the vampires, too. “Geralt is happier than I have ever seen him. More careful, too. There were times when he wouldn't call for help at all, not just wait too long.” She looked at Eskel then. “Vesemir looks more alive than I have seen him in years, grumping about demons in the castle but picking flowers and making food for them at the same time. And you.” She touched her fingertips to his scarred cheek. “You look happier too, most of the time. No longer so removed.”

He looked at her for a long moment, and then looked down. “That’s what you’re misunderstanding. It’s not about sex. It’s about family, and closeness. They actually give a fuck about me, Ciri.”

“Why do you think I don’t get it? I do. I can also see what you can’t. It may not be about sex now, or for you, but if you ever indicated otherwise, Dracula would have had you on that couch, audience or no.”

Painful heat flushed Eskel’s cheeks, and he couldn’t quite look her in the face. That wasn’t actually news for him. He’d always been pretty sure that Dracula would have been happy to fuck him. But there was a lot loaded into that issue.

He knew Dracula wanted sex, but sex for Eskel was always an impersonal thing. Something he did to let off some steam or scratch an itch. Sometimes it was just to feel someone else next to him, touching him in a way that wasn’t painful. 

What he had now with Dracula and Alucard was so much more than that. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing the closeness that they shared, just so he could be the casual fling on the side. He didn’t want to lose what little joy he had now just to get off from time to time. Nor did he want to turn into Dracula’s backup-fuck for when his real lovers were busy. 

There was also the fact that he really wasn’t sure if he was interested in men at all. He wasn’t attracted to other men, but he was attracted to Dracula. Alucard, too, a bit. Maybe that was only because of the effects of the bites and the power breathing; Eskel couldn’t be sure. 

Eskel knew that he liked Dracula beyond the sudden lust the bites invoked, liked the man and his often unbearably honest approach to life. He also knew that while he craved the contact, he would have never accepted it if the decision was left completely in his hands. Dracula pushed things at him, forcefully more often than not, but never beyond what Eskel was ready to accept.

Alucard was a different matter. His power made Eskel just as ridiculously horny, but he’d only swallowed Alucard’s power once. And, sure, sometimes when Alucard showed up looking to cuddle, smelling of spent sex and power, Eskel had a reaction. That was just the scent of it all getting to him, and the aggressive way Alucard wrapped around him. Probably. Prior to today, Eskel would have said that Alucard didn’t have any interest at all in Eskel. But when he was sucking on Eskel’s neck...that felt different.

The truth was, now that Ciri had started him thinking on it, Eskel wasn’t really sure. About anything.

“I’m not…I don’t want to interfere with Geralt’s relationship,” he settled on finally, unable to express himself properly. While he had many concerns, that was his biggest one. No matter what Eskel might want, he’d rather fling himself into hell than fuck with a relationship that obviously made Geralt ridiculously happy.

Ciri tilted her head.

“You should maybe talk with Geralt. I think he knows a lot more than you think he does. I think he already gave you permission to do as little or as much as you want.” She shrugged with a wry little smile on her face. “There’s not a single selfish bone in that man.”

“Which is exactly why the rest of us need to look out for him.” Eskel sighed. 

“Try and talk to him, you might be surprised by his perspective.” Ciri put her hands on Eskel’s shoulders and pulled him in for a hug. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Eskel. Have a little fun, you’ve earned it.”

He crushed her close for a moment, grateful beyond words that she’d shown up in Geralt’s life, and therefore Eskel’s as well. When he pulled back, he gave her a wry smile. “Go say goodbye to the others, and be on your way. Else we might convince you to stay a bit longer. But there’s work to be done, and the Path doesn’t want to go unwalked.”

Eskel watched her go and couldn’t help but feel stunned by the scope of her acceptance. Of everyone's acceptance really. The way Dracula easily followed that original request Eskel made about there being no sex, and how Alucard and Geralt just joined them in bed whenever Dracula tracked him down for some forceful cuddling. Now that he was a bit calmer and looked back at other people’s reactions, Ciri and Vesemir might have made plenty of comments about his closeness to Dracula, but they hadn’t actually asked him to stop or outright claimed he should stop. They ragged on him, yes, but as Ciri proved right now, not because they disapproved.

Maybe he would talk to Geralt, just to clear the air between them. They’d let things go unsaid for too long now.

Ciri went back to Geralt and hugged her father, whispering something very softly to him. When she straightened, she gave a small wave towards Dracula who was hovering close by.

“Take care of my father,” she said, looking at Alucard. “I’m going to go find my things before I leave.”

Then she ran up to Dracula and kissed him on the cheek before he had a chance to do anything. In the next heartbeat, she was running up to Alucard. He bent down obligingly for her, letting her kiss his cheek, too.

“Thank you for saving him,” she whispered. Then she was out the door and talking to one of the guards. 

Eskel followed behind and made sure the door was shut firmly behind her. No sense in inviting intrusion.

When he turned back to the other occupants of the room, he was surprised to find Alucard leaning on the couch and watching as Dracula and Geralt made out, with Dracula perched on the edge of the bed. Damn, but Dracula was fast. Eskel didn’t even hear him move.

“My Father decided to leave with Ciri,” Alucard said. “He decided it would cause less commotion than if he left after.”

Knowing Dracula, Eskel wasn’t sure that any exit the man could make would be anything less than dramatic. He pursed his lips. 

“I need my swords back before he goes.” He had absolutely no idea where Dracula even put them. One moment he had them, and then Eskel had looked away for two seconds and they were gone.

“You gave him your swords?!” Alucard sounded shocked enough he turned to look at Eskel with wide eyes.

“It was either that or let random humans have them.” Eskel shivered. 

“Humans would have been a better choice,” Alucard said. “Do you know what he does to swords or other weapons he takes?” He looked a little frazzled. 

“No idea, but I know he’ll never sell them or give them to his drinking buddies or fucking…” Eskel rubbed his eyes and tried not to think about watching his blades, his life and livelihood, stolen from him and given to drunken idiots who wouldn’t know the ass end of a good sword if they fell on it. Drunken idiots who then proceeded to beat the shit out of him for weeks. 

It was possible that Eskel still had some lingering issues leftover from the past summer.

“He shoves them all willy nilly into that place out of time he keeps stuff in and then _forgets_ about them and you have to wait for days for him to remember to give them _back_!” Alucard raised his arms. “I couldn’t even summon my sword and I can summon it from a different world if I have to!” He took a deep breath. “Never give him anything for safekeeping, god only knows what mess he has in that space and how long it’s been there.”

Eskel just rubbed his face and sighed. 

“Nothing is ever easy,” he grumbled, resigned to the fact that this was probably gonna be a pain. “Although now I’m curious as hell about what else he’s got squirreled away.”

Alucard looked conflicted.

“On the one hand, I’m curious too. On the other, I’m a little afraid of the answer.”

That made Eskel huff out a laugh. “So situation normal then, for Dracula?”

Alucard laughed.

“Yes, I guess it is normal for him.” Alucard looked at Eskel, obviously wanting to share the humor but then his eyes slid down Eskel’s face to his neck and he blushed, turning quickly away to stare at the pair making out in the bed.

Yeah, Eskel thought that Alucard would be embarrassed. Both of them were private people, and Alucard more so. 

He walked over to the back of the couch, right next to where Alucard leaned, and bumped shoulders with him. 

“It’s alright,” he said quietly, leaning on the couch, too, but giving Alucard a couple inches of space if he needed.

“I feel like we crossed some kind of line,” Alucard said, not yet looking at Eskel. “One we maybe shouldn’t have?” He trailed off, sounding strangely unsure and vulnerable.

That was sort of what he’d been thinking about too, in a way. “I think what we did was alright. Maybe there was a line, but I don’t mind that we crossed it.” He looked at Alucard out of the corner of his eye. “I’m not yet sure myself where it’ll go. If anywhere.”

“It wasn’t…like the cuddling,” Alucard said, looking down and then at Eskel and down again. “You know that right?”

Eskel winced and then blushed. “Ciri brought it to my attention, yeah. I’m,” he paused, grasping for words. “I’m mixed up about it. Not sure what I’m feeling. Not sure what you all think about it either.”

“Then why did you go with it?”

“It felt right.” He shrugged, and fidgeted with his sleeve cuff. “That moment felt right.”

Alucard was watching him from the corner of his eye.

“You knew he and I were heading for sex,” Alucard said slowly. There was a hint of a blush on Alucard’s cheeks. He wasn’t one to show off his relationship or physical closeness to other people. 

“When I offered a taste, no. I didn’t think that far ahead. By the time you and he were kissing, yes.” Fuck, but this was hard to talk about. “I think,” he said slowly, “I think I just got used to the feeling of that. You three always smell of each other. That want is always there for you.” 

He paused, and swallowed heavily. “I didn’t think I wanted that, too, but now I don’t know.”

Alucard shifted.

“I know you haven’t,” Alucard started. He swallowed and then turned to look at Eskel. “But did you want to?” Alucard looked to where Dracula was still doing his best to eat Geralt alive. “With him?”

And that was the question, wasn’t it? 

“I don’t know,” Eskel whispered, but there was just as much curiosity in his voice as there was confusion. “There are times where I wonder. What we have now is more important to me, but his power, his bite…” Eskel’s face burned, and he ducked his head. “It makes me want him. And you. I don’t know if that’s something I can…do. And I don’t know if that’s something you all want, too. I’d sooner leave than fuck things up for you three.”

“You can’t,” Alucard said. “What we have with Geralt is solid, you don’t have to worry about damaging it. We are the only ones that can destroy it. You?” Alucard looked to him. “You are already part of us. Whatever you choose to do…we will accept. For me, sex is less important than connection. My Father, for all his physicality, is not one to share affection easy or at all, really. You shouldn't worry about us. Just about yourself.”

“I didn’t even want to consider the possibility for, for more, until I figured out if you all wanted me like that. I’m not really the type people wanna keep around.” 

He thought of the witcher lullaby. _He comes, he’ll go, leave naught behind, but heartbreak and woe._

“It doesn't have to be all or nothing,” Alucard said gently. “Geralt was a bit of a revelation for me. My only relationship before was my wife and then my Father.” He shrugged. “I know Geralt loves you like a brother, like family.” He looked to where Dracula and Geralt were still making out. “I haven't talked to Geralt yet, but I think he would agree with me. Nothing is expected of you. If you need time to make any decision, that’s all right. If you decide you only feel comfortable with my Father, that…that is also all right. You have a very special place in our hearts.”

Pleasure bloomed in Eskel’s chest, filling him up to an almost painful degree. “Yeah, I need to talk to Geralt, too. But you know, I’m still alright with you drinking from me. Even if you just want a taste. If you think it could...only be a sex thing for you, we could have Dracula or Geralt there to help with that, until I figure out if I’m alright with that, too.”

The thing was, he remembered how easy and wonderful Alucard’s power felt inside of him. How much he wanted to touch and taste Alucard when he was filled up with that warm energy. Who was to say what he might feel when, if, Alucard drank from him? Based on the shadows of pleasure he felt while Alucard’s mouth was on his neck, he could bet it would be good.

“It felt good, you know,” Eskel said quietly, his face on fire with his blushes. 

“That’s thanks to him.” Alucard nodded towards his father who was still, unbelievably, making out with Geralt. “I don’t know how to control what a bite might feel like. He is often harsh, but he cares a lot. Enough to make sure he causes pleasure instead of pain. He would have to...teach me.”

Eskel smirked at him. “You know I don’t actually care if it hurts or not. That sort of thing doesn’t get me off, but it wouldn’t bother me.”

“Causing pain doesn’t interest me.” Alucard frowned. “I don’t like that there are aspects of my abilities that I can’t control.”

Eskel shrugged. “Let me know if you want to practice. Once he’s healed up, Geralt will trip all over himself to volunteer for that. He likes things rougher than I do, too. But there may be less pressure with me.”

“He does like it rough,” Alucard agreed with a tiny smile.

After a moment, Eskel asked, “What did it taste like? When you…when you tasted me.”

It was embarrassing to ask, but only a tiny bit. They’d already talked about so much, and Eskel was intensely curious how Alucard experienced drinking Eskel’s blood.

“You were thinking of him, of how it felt to be bitten,” Alucard said slowly. “That in itself was…intense. Hot. But you also tasted like welcome and acceptance. Sweet. Like you wanted this to be a comfort.”

“Yes,” he said roughly. “Our lives are filled with such precious little comfort. I wanted you to feel at ease. Like you make me feel, and how he makes me feel”---Eskel nodded towards Dracula---“when the world is too much for me.”

“He has a way of making you feel safe.” Alucard shook his head. “Him of all people.”

Eskel leaned in a little, brushing their shoulders together again. “You do, too. I didn’t realize how much I wanted it, needed it.”

“You have it now. He’s not going to take it away you know.”

Eskel ducked his head and took a moment to breathe. It was still hard to believe that this wouldn’t end. He could have this closeness, have people to hold and touch, whenever he wanted or needed.

“Did you like it?” Eskel asked. “The taste of me?”

This time Alucard looked him right in the eye.

“Yes.”

For whatever reason, a small wave of relief went through him. “I’m glad.”

Eskel looked at Alucard and remembered how the younger vampire let Ciri kiss his cheek. He realized that he never touched Alucard outside of very specific situations. Mostly Dracula was the trigger. He either already had Eskel squished under him like a particularly unruly cat or Alucard was all high on blood and snuggly, looking for warm bodies to snuggle up to. There was a definite pattern, one that Eskel let develop because he felt uncomfortable reaching out first. 

This whole debacle made him think about how it must look to Alucard, that Eskel never came to seek him out for an embrace. That he only waited until Alucard or Dracula found him first. He touched Alucard’s arm, feeling a sharp pang of guilt at the brief flash of surprise he saw in his face before it was hidden. He kept pulling until Alucard was facing him fully and then a little more, until he could wrap his arms around the vampire. He held on to him until he felt Alucard respond, and his tall body curl down to fit into Eskel’s arms. 

Eskel held him close, letting his scent envelop them both and then kissed Alucard’s cheek, just like Ciri did.

“I’m glad Geralt stumbled into your castle,” he whispered against Alucard’s skin.

“Me too.”

\---

Dracula stepped into his castle. His clothes changed to his more familiar attire the moment his boots touched the stone of his bedroom’s balcony.

There was a giddy sort of warmth curled deep in his chest. Alucard was making progress. He’d tasted Eskel’s blood. It wasn’t drinking, wasn't anywhere close to any feeding, but it was such a huge step nonetheless. He tasted human blood, a willing donor, and he did it himself. 

When Eskel offered, Dracula honestly didn't expect anything to come out of it. When Alucard put his mouth over the half healed bites that Dracula had left earlier, Dracula had to lock his body tight not to react and maybe spook his son. 

Eskel was being so good, such a good witcher as he held still for Alucard and as he let Dracula position him for better access. He was even better when he offered himself for another bite, not fighting him at all. Dracula touched his lips remembering the taste of Eskel’s blood, how it felt to share it with Alucard, and his son’s reaction to it pouring down his mouth.

Eskel deserved gifts. A reward. Everything he wanted. Dracula never expected the witcher that Alucard had brought home like a stray kitten to turn out to be so instrumental in teaching Alucard not to starve himself.

As pleased as he was with that turn of events, there were still other issues that Dracula needed to deal with. Mainly, being a proper deterrent for those out to hunt _what belonged to him_. 

Seething, black, vicious anger still bubbled up inside of him over what had happened to Geralt. He’d listened to his little witcher family talk about who might truly be responsible, and he’d debated about laying waste to all of them. It would only be a couple of countries, but every potential enemy would be very thoroughly burned to ash and thus no longer a threat. 

As satisfying as that would be, Dracula had to remind himself why he hadn’t interfered in Geralt’s world earlier. His actions had consequences, not the least of which that both Geralt and Alucard would be displeased with such vast destruction.

Had Geralt actually died…well, Dracula couldn’t say if he would have been able to stop himself from leveling that kind of destruction anyways. But Eskel was correct. Geralt was alive and would recover fully. Dracula could read in between the lines of Geralt’s apology, too. He feared the destruction that Dracula would wreak if called too quickly. 

That had him very minorly torn. Anything Dracula could do to encourage the witcher to actually _fucking ask for help_ would be worth it. But the burning need to wipe out any who might dare to touch his people, his souls, was extremely hard to derail. 

He’d have to reserve judgement. It was good that Geralt admitted that he should ask for assistance earlier. That was a good first step. Dracula would just have to watch and see how that all played out.

But in order for Dracula to actually watch the situation closer, he couldn’t be worlds away any longer. Never again would he find himself waiting, unable to reach out and directly see if Geralt was dying alone in a ditch somewhere. Just the thought of it made him bare his fangs and sent ripples of Chaos fire wafting off of him. 

He knew that his plan of action would drastically, _drastically_, shift the balance of powers in that world. But this was still the less invasive of options. No one could fault him for simply wanting to secure a safe stronghold in Geralt’s world. And if in doing so he protected Geralt and the rest of Geralt’s little family, all the better. The rest of humanity would cope. 

And, really, Kaer Morhen was tiny. He could just tuck it into one of the inner courtyards. Granted, the mountain it was attached to was a tad bigger but he was confident he could fit that in, too. It would give the witchers a little room to run around in without getting into the castle proper. No doubt they’d like the space.

He stepped through the heavy double door into a mostly dark corridor of old stone and high, arching windows. The ceiling above him was full of gold and green patterned glass and the sharp arches gave a sense of height to the already high ceiling. Some of the windows were broken. Cold wind and snow howled in from the outside and glass crunched under his boots as he walked. 

The castle was movable and malleable, but it still had a backbone of sorts. There were hallways, corridors, and whole sections of it that he made sure Geralt, Eskel, and even Alucard wouldn't be able to access.

This part was built by the Bernhards originally, back when the castle was still a regular building, before they summoned the demon that changed it. It was one of the few parts of the castle Dracula couldn’t change as he pleased.

He found a way to control it anyway.

The room at the end of the long corridor was sealed heavily and only his blood could open the locks. He’d only used this room once, to bind his own demon to the castle and make sure it would be _his_, not the other way around.

The heavy stone door was plain, covered in just the simple carving of an old tree. The roots were as heavily defined as the leaves above, all of it carved into the white marble of the door. On the floor just under his feet, there was a small basin carved into the stone tile. Thin channels lead out from basin to run along the edges of the door. They curled up over the wall around, encircling the whole door to meet in the middle above the arch of the door. There at the very top was the stone visage of a fanged mouth, jaws open and empty.

Dracula raised his wrist to his mouth and ripped his flesh open, severing arteries and veins and causing blood to gush out in a thick wave. The dark liquid splashed into the shallow basin; the moment it touched the spelled stone, it began to glow bright red. His wound healed immediately, closing up without a mark.

The smoldering blood in the basin began swirling by its own volition. Against all natural order, it flowed in the grooves connected to the basin, along the floor, and up the channels on the wall. With every inch, a new set of glowing seals was revealed on the stone door. 

His blood reached the top of the frame and filled into the snarling maw, creating a shining orb of red within those teeth. The seals on the door were so bright that he had to raise a hand to shield his eyes from the glare.

A click echoed through the castle as the door opened, loud enough that Dracula could feel it in his very bones. This was more than just a room that he had opened; it was the very center of the castle.

The inside of it was plain. From the color and wear on the stone it was clearly older than the part of the castle where Dracula had his personal quarters. 

There were only two major features to the small stone room. 

The first was the intricate seal carved into the smooth floor. It was large and round with runes covering every inch of the outer circle. Similar to the templates used for his Map Rooms, but far more advanced. A shallow indent lay right in the middle. That was where the focus for the castle would sit. 

The second was a slightly raised dais with two large activation spikes rising up out of it. They weren’t as streamlined as the ones in the Map Rooms, being the early version of them, but they served the same purpose. His power gave life to the castle, and to its inhabitants, too, in many cases. That power was in his blood, therefore it was his blood that was needed to activate the seal. 

Dracula stepped into the room, and the moment he did he could feel the castle go still and turn its attention to him. The last time he was here, he had stripped it of most of its free will, forcing it into obedience the same way he blood-oathed the vampires and demons that had come into his service. 

The castle was a complicated being though, and as such Dracula had to bind it in a special way. Rather than make himself the focus of the castle’s bindings, he’d used another demon to be that proxy. One that was completely and utterly _his_, and once the binding was done, it was intrinsically entwined with the castle. Over the years, that demon had changed, losing its shape and becoming a fluid being that had no beginning and no end as the castle grew. It had lost its consciousness as a singular being, but it gained a different kind of awareness. Dracula could feel it now being centered on him. 

“Orlaith,” Dracula called out, letting his power ripple and flow through the word and down into the stones of the foundation. “I summon you.”

It only took a heartbeat or two for those ripples of energy to seek out its target and come back to the room in a wave. Blood soaked through one of the side walls, squirming out of the seams like worms. It pooled down onto the floor, and then rose up, manifesting into the shape of a woman. 

She was clad in pale gray, and her skin and hair matched. The style was severe. Dracula knew it was because of the room they were in. Orlaith reflected the castle in many ways, for she was bound to it as thoroughly as anything could be. Her eyes were the only part of her that stayed the same color no matter where she appeared; they were glassy green with just a touch of blue, like deep, frothing waters. 

“My Prince,” she said, kneeling before him with her head bowed. The heavy sleeves on her long dress coat flared out around her as she knelt, and she clasped her hands in front of her. 

“Orlaith,” he returned the greeting. He stepped up to the activation spikes. “I have a task for you.”

“I live to serve, My Prince.” Now she looked up at him, giving him a dry look and a raised eyebrow. “It is good to know My Prince remembers me after such a long time.”

He snorted.

“Are you unhappy about something?” he asked, motioning for her to get up from her knees.

She stood and dusted off her leather pants and tall boots. “Not...as such. But there is much to do. Many things to keep in order. So much fell into decay in the last centuries while I, while we, slept. And there are a few inhabitants that need a careful hand. Nothing that cannot be handled, but it is time consuming.” Then she cast him a shrewd look. “But I think you do not summon me for those small matters.”

“You won’t like what I am about to do,” Dracula said. Already he was focusing on the power he could feel buried deep in the stones of the room. He’d need every scrap of it to do what was needed.

Orlaith frowned a bit and furrowed her brow, then looked around the room they were in. She looked back to him, her eyes a little wide. “There are only so many things you would need this room for, and all of them are drastic.”

“I’m moving the castle to a world of my choosing.” 

He knew that would mean he would have to tear down every single mooring, every root that Orlaith had built in the several hundred years that she had managed the castle. Since the castle was her, bound so deeply they were one body, he would be tearing off parts of her own being in the process. And he would need her to work with him during it, to shore up the wards, and to keep the castle as contained as possible for the transfer. She was the only one capable of dealing with the unfathomable fluidity of the castle and how it existed on multiple levels of reality at once.

Her eyes grew wider still and he could see her hands shake a bit. More than that, he could feel a slight tremble in the stones, a reflection of her worry. 

She licked her lips, clearly at a loss. “When?”

Dracula looked at the only spot in the seal without runes etched into it, that indent right in the middle of the floor, and then back to her. What he was about to do probably wouldn’t be as bad for her as the binding was, but it wouldn’t be much better.

“Now.”

A shudder raced through her, and she closed her eyes. “Tell me of the place we are going. Are there mountains? I liked the mountains here. Nice firm rock to grow into.”

Dracula stared at her for a moment, feeling something that felt surprisingly like guilt.

“There are some. Smaller than what the castle is rooted in now, though there is a larger range to the east,” he said, watching her face fall. “We can take some of the mountains with us if you want?” He was already planning to spend a lot of power, what’s a little more in the grand scheme of things.

A tiny smile flickered across her face and she opened her eyes to look at him. “The more we move, the worse it will be for both of us. I can always grow my own once we get there.”

“Whichever you choose is fine by me.” He shrugged. 

He wasn’t afraid of pain. Nothing he would ever feel would compare to that moment so long ago when Zobek returned his memory to him and showed him all the atrocities he committed while under his control. No physical pain could even register in comparison to that agony.

She hummed at him, squinting a bit. “Some of our buildings are built on them, so those will have to come with. Overlook Tower. The Old God’s garden. Carmilla’s wing. The rest we can leave. Once we’re established in the new world, I’ll set my will to the lands around us to make it a little more palatable. Nothing like a nice, tall mountain range to keep interlopers out.”

“We’ll be settling around an existing keep. It has a tiny mountain, too.” Dracula hoped Vesemir liked mountains. His was tiny, but it was still a mountain. He hoped the old witcher would like to see a proper range.

“Aw. How cute.” The smirk was back now, but he could tell that Orlaith was pleased at the idea of a captive mountain. “Any idea where you want to put it?”

She made a gesture and dark blood seeped out from the cracks in the stone floor. It swirled together, clumping up until it formed a sprawling mock up of the castle, at least its above ground parts.

“Since there are people coming in and out, I was thinking of somewhere close to a gate but still protected by the walls,” Dracula said musingly.

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with that sweet talking lover of yours, would it? He’s so nice.” 

Dracula raised his eyebrows. Orlaith was generally unwilling to like any guests at all.

“Sweet talking?” he asked.

“I can see why you like him,” she said with quiet amusement. “He always remembers to say thank you, even when lost, and doesn’t leave a mess.”

Dracula shook his head.

“He makes friends wherever he goes, doesn’t he?”

“Perhaps,” she said. “I haven’t tested that theory yet. I keep him out of some parts of the castle.”

“Good,” he said approvingly. There was no need for Geralt to see all that inhabited the castle.

“Be warned, though, My Prince.” Orlaith gave him a serious look. “He is kind and curious, and more than one denizen of this place has become curious in return. I sense no ill intention yet, but at some point they’ll start looking for an excuse to meet him.” She sighed, and the roots of the castle sighed with her. “Though this move will distract them for a while.”

There were ghosts in this castle, souls trapped in here forever, some attracted by its dark power, some born in it. So far, neither Geralt or Eskel had managed to stumble onto any of the more dangerous inhabitants, but they would eventually. Dracula knew it was unavoidable. He would have to deal with it when the time came. 

The smile that crossed Orlaith’s face wasn’t quite vicious, but it was a touch predatory. “It’ll be good for him. He’s got to learn at some point. I’ll supervise.” Then she looked over the map before them, and pointed to one of the courtyards. “There. Will that fit the tiny mountain and the little keep? Nice heavy towers. A good large wall.”

Dracula could see her already thinking up plans. “That will work.”

He put his palms on the activation spikes. 

“Step into the circle,” he ordered. 

Orlaith clenched her fists and then relaxed them, just once, before she bowed shallowly and did as he bid her. 

The moment her foot crossed the first line of the seal, her clothes melted away. She was naked as she stepped into the blank spot left for her in the middle. Glowing runes lit up her pale skin, covering every inch of her from the top of her head to the soles of her feet. They were the marks of ownership and the binding ran bone deep. So deep that any attempt at separating her from either the castle or from him would destroy her. Orlaith existed for one purpose only, and that was to be the bridge for Dracula and the yoke for the unruly castle that thought it could make Dracula its host.

She knelt down on the spot left for her and the seal shivered. It moved around her, twisting in place and glowing with a faint blue light. It rippled and shifted until the grooves cut into stone had stretched out to touch Orlath’s body, ready to receive and transfer Dracula’s power.

“Shore up our defences, Orlaith,” Dracula said. “We don’t want things to be left to grow unchecked. Whatever we can't take with us has to be thoroughly destroyed.”

“Yes, My Prince.” Her voice was a distant echo and a cavernous thunder at the same time. Power writhed around her, and he could feel her stretch out her influence, touching every part of the vast castle complex. 

He pushed his palms against the spikes. The sharp stone broke through his flesh and sunk deep into his palms, and the pain sparked, bright and awful up his arms. His blood began to flow, dripping down the spikes and onto the floor where shallow indentations directed his blood towards the seal.

The moment his blood touched the seal, Orlaith started working. Stone and lava and brick were viciously pruned. Each bit was dug up with power, scooped out of the world they were currently in, and held tight to the castle’s main body. Ward after ward flared along his senses, each one being uprooted along with the buildings they were attached to. There was a sound, not quite audible to the physical ear, but a low shuddering screech nonetheless, as both the castle and the world around it were ripped asunder. 

It wasn’t enough. Dracula knew it wouldn’t be enough. 

The spikes in his palms changed and opened, spreading the wounds and cracking his bones. He grunted and clenched his teeth. Blood poured faster now, and the first ring of the seal changed color from blue to red. He could feel the castle coming to attention, feel it struggle against Orlaith’s grip. She pulled at his power, the drain hitting him hard as she worked, despite the agony of cutting out pieces of herself while doing so.

The blood reached the second of the three rings around Orlaith and slowed. Even the opened spikes were not enough. It wasn’t only about his blood and power. It was about pain, too. The castle would obey, but it would extract its price from those wanting to control it.

Orlaith was pale. Her eyes were half open and sweat beaded down her forehead as she worked for him. Her lips trembled and there was already a thin line of blood coming out of her nose, skirting her pale lips and dripping off her chin to splatter on her small breasts. She looked skinnier, her ribs were starting to poke out from under her paper thin skin. He could see the bumps of her joints become more pronounced as the damage intensified.

They would both pay the price of this spell.

The opened rosettas of the spikes turned in his wounds, dragging the shattered pieces of his bones apart. Another smaller spike emerged from the middle and lanced up and into his palms. The pain from the additional spike was negligible in comparison to the agony of his hands, but that wasn’t all. At first, Dracula felt a spreading cold, feeling like almost almost a relief as the new spike released liquid into his body. 

It took a moment for the poison to hit.

The anticoagulant in the poison sped up the bleeding, making his blood pour twice as fast out of his wounds. Any natural creature would have long since bled out by now, but Dracula’s blood was a physical manifestation of his power; endless and corrosive. 

As the poison spread, it burned. It seared him from the inside like fire, seizing his lungs and belly, bringing forth agony at such levels that he had to toss his head back and scream. His power raged around him, storming and pouring itself down the seal, down through Orlaith, and into the castle proper. 

In that moment they were one, all three of them. He could feel the agony of the poison, and of his broken hands. Could hear the wail of Orlaith losing pieces of her very being as she cut and tore, unmooring the castle from where it had grown for so long. Dracula was them all and nobody at the same time. He was power. Energy. Rage and pain that howled in the room, tearing at the stones, and set the seal to burning. 

His blood was at the third circle now, touching Orlaith and climbing up her body in thick streams, setting her binding marks ablaze.

It crawled up her folded legs and her chest, covered the withering shapes of her breaths and skinny neck, and then slithered over the reedy thin hair and onto her face. It poured in to her half open eyes, changing them from sea green to solid red, and finally into her panting mouth. 

As soon as it did, something clicked. A harsh, deep resonance sounded through the castle, and the storm of Dracula’s power died with it.

Dust trickled down around them, and the floor vibrated and rolled under them. Orlaith’s agonized cries were barely audible above the overwhelming sense of _moving_. 

The world shattered and shifted around them, torn apart into a thousands bits and reforming around them. Dracula couldn’t see anything in the room anymore, but he knew every inch of it as he knew the skin on his body, just as he could see and feel every part of the castle. They were one, and through him, they moved to where Dracula chose. 

He could feel the sky burst into being above them and the earth shudder below them as the new world received his castle. They dug into that fresh earth, watering the transfer with blood and molten rock, while the keening fear of the castle’s many inhabitants vibrated through the walls.

The ground settled and the screaming din of the rush of power faded away, until all Dracula could hear was his own panting breaths and Orlaith’s pained moans. 

He was on his knees. 

The achingly cold stone floor was painful under his joints. His hands were still speared by the spikes, the stone punched right through his mangled palms. 

With a wet, sucking sound, he pulled his hands off the spikes. He gritted his teeth at the pain, and let them rest on his knees as he breathed and waited for his body to heal and reform itself into its proper shape.

It took much longer than usual.

By the time he managed to pull himself upright, dizzy and sick to his very stomach with exhaustion, the last vestiges of power had faded from the room.

Orlaith was lying curled up on her side, her body nothing but ravaged bone and skin. Her cheeks were sunken and her belly was nothing but a concave piece of flesh. The bones of her hips stood out in sharp relief. Her heavy, shuddering breaths came out with a rattle, and she was still bleeding sluggishly from her nose. Her eyes were half open, though, and were moving enough that Dracula knew she was conscious.

“Take a smaller form,” he said. He put his still bloody hand onto her shoulder and pushing some power into her. It _hurt_. He was so raw and ravaged inside that even that tiny push of power was agony. 

It was enough, though.

Orlaith’s form shivered and became insubstantial. Once the dark mist cleared, instead of the emaciated woman, there was a small black cat laying on the floor. The cat didn't look much better than her human form. It was skinny, too, and it had matted fur and sunken sides as it lay panting on the floor. It still looked significantly better than her human body. The smaller form would be marginally easier for her to manifest.

“Put everybody on lockdown while I sleep,” he ordered, sitting back. 

Dracula didn’t bother trying to get up. Instead, he let his body burst into shadows and float away.

He needed to rest, to shore up his resources after pouring such an insane amount of power into the castle and the surrounding lands. 

The process wasn’t finished. There was a lot of work to be done, but Orlaith would be able to do that on her own once she recovered some.

Dracula reformed in his bedroom. The balcony showed him a sunny, calm winter morning instead of the ever raging blizzard that characterized the last world the castle stayed in. Sunlight blazed off of the snow caps of the mountains he brought with them, and he could see the deep green forests around Kaer Morhen and the keep itself just peeking out from behind Overlook Tower.

He laid down on the bed sheets, still smelling of Alucard and just barely of Geralt, and let himself rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Quarra: Now you know why the working title for this fic was Dracula's Moving Castle, or just Moving Castle for short. 
> 
> I cackled a lot over that.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note from Q: We deviate slightly from witcher canon here again with how quickly and by what means Geralt acquired Ciri. It's only mentioned in passing, but I figure a heads up is good.

Matt took just enough time off to get a few hours of sleep and a meal to-go. As much as he needed the rest, he knew he’d be fine with a couple less hours than normal. It wasn’t like he’d be able to sleep a full night anyways, not with all the crazy bullshit he’d had to cope with in the last day or two. His head was too full up with possibilities and plans. 

Because of that, he was back on Trevor’s floor in the hospital by early evening. He’d set up the basic security plans for the press brief before he’d slept, so there wasn’t much to do once he got back in, just a regular check up on final details to fill him in on everything that had happened while he slept.

Part of him was extremely grateful that Belmont Sr. apparently left sometime during the day; that took one volatile element out of the equation. Another part of him would have preferred Belmont Sr. to stay where Matt could see him. The way Belmont Sr. had waltzed into the hospital, unseen and untraceable, was incredibly disturbing. Matt’s imagination kept running impossible and terrible scenarios of the man showing up again just as unexpectedly and with more sinister plans in mind.

He had no idea what to feel about the fact that Ciri left, too. Eskel had stayed, apparently acting as Belmont Sr.’s own guard dog at Geralt’s bedside.

Trevor met him in the hall on the way to Geralt’s room. He was back to looking like the primly collected CEO that Matt was used to. Every strand of hair was neatly braided into place, his dark grey suit was crisp and clean, and his eyes were safely covered in contacts once again. As ever, John was just a step behind, briefcase in hand.

“Matt,” Trevor said quietly, carefully adjusting his sapphire cufflinks. “I appreciate you keeping an eye on Geralt and Eskel. Eskel is generally quite sensible, as witchers go anyways, but Geralt.” He paused, clearly choosing his words. “He is getting restless.”

A guy who looked like a patchwork quilt somehow had enough energy to be restless. Matt blinked hard, but then he remembered how little he liked to be laid up in bed. 

“I could turn on the press conference? I’m sure they’d be interested.” Nothing like TV to keep a person occupied.

That actually made Trevor furrow his brow. “Yes. You may have to explain things to them. They both are…sheltered in some ways.”

_Sheltered_.

Matt thought about the scars and strangely antiquated weapons. Maybe his original cult idea had some merit.

“Noted, and I appreciate the heads up. Should we expect more company this evening?” 

Trevor shook his head. “I won’t rule it out, but it’s unlikely. Ciri has other matters to attend to. As for my Father...” He shrugged. “He comes and goes as he pleases. Best not to make any assumptions on that front.”

Matt held back a sigh. 

“I assume that Eskel is Geralt’s personal bodyguard?” Matt asked, even though he already knew the answer. If it were any other family, he’d say that Eskel was just there to support Geralt as his brother. But from what he’d seen of the witchers so far, that didn’t seem very likely. Not with how Eskel was armed and how he moved like the whole world was suspect.

His boss gave him a tiny smile of approval.

“Yes and no. If somebody manages to get through your people, Eskel will take care of them. And he will make sure Geralt doesn’t get too out of hand in the meantime.”

Matt did not envy Eskel the job. Not only constantly on guard, but doubling up as a nanny to boot.

Right before Trevor walked off, he paused. Almost as an afterthought, he said, “If you do end up knife fighting, keep in mind that Eskel fights dirty. And try not to get too much blood on the floor.”

Matt blinked. That was maybe the oddest thing he ever heard his boss say to him. He looked over at John, who was staring at him with wide eyes. Giving him the same exact look he gave Belmont Sr. earlier. Matt felt offended. He wasn’t that bad!

“Thank you, Matt. We’ll be back in a couple of hours.” With that, Trevor and John headed to the elevator, to be joined there by an additional security detail.

Matt rubbed his eyes and wished he’d thought to get himself an extra coffee before he got in. Something with espresso shots. 

He made his way into the room. 

He knocked on the door out of politeness, and got a faint, “Come in,” in response.

Geralt was resting upright in his bed while Eskel held a spoon in front of his face. Both men looked ready to strangle the other.

“This is bullshit,” Geralt grumbled, but dutifully took a bite.

“Shut the fuck up and eat your mush,” Eskel bitched back, digging out another spoonful of something vaguely orange.

“I want to eat real food,” Geralt said after swallowing his mouthful of mush.

“I want my swords, but life fucking hurts sometimes.” Eskel sniffed at the orange puree and shrugged a little, clearly not finding anything to be offended by in the smell.

“What did you do with your swords? Didn’t you just get a new set?” Geralt raised an eyebrow, then waved a couple fingers in greeting to Matt as he walked in.

“Arrrgggh. You know how I can’t stand people taking them.” Eskel tossed the bowl onto the small table next to the bed. “Not after last summer, anyways.”

“More,” Geralt demanded with the grumpiest expression ever. “And I get it. They fucking stole all of your stuff and pawned it. I would have gone bonkers if it was my gear.”

Eskel sighed, grabbed the bowl again, and held up another spoonful. “Stole it, pawned it, and then came back to fuck me up some more. Anyways, this asshole---” Eskel pointed the spoon at Matt just as Geralt was trying to bite, which earned him a growl. “Shit, sorry.” He angled the spoon back so Geralt could eat. “This guy wanted me to give them my stuff. All of it.”

“I’m Mr. Belmont’s head of security. Letting armed people in to see him isn’t generally a wise plan,” Matt said logically, taking a seat along the wall, something that gave him line of sight to the door and to the witchers. He remembered how Geralt said the standing made him nervous. Based on how unhappy both Eskel and Geralt looked, adding extra nerves was the last thing any of them needed.

“Might as well have told you to bend over and drop trou,” Geralt grumped, eyeing the bowl of mush in Eskel’s hand. “Maybe we can funnel this stuff down my throat?”

That just made Eskel shudder. “No. You get a spoon.” He held up another bite. “In any case, Trevor’s father offered a compromise. We got these flimsy things to wear, I got to keep half my gear, and he got my swords. But the asshole wandered off without giving them back. Who the fuck even knows where he put them?”

Geralt forgot about his incoming bite and looked up at Eskel in obvious horror.

“He took them away?!”

Eskel just nodded glumly. “I’m sure I’ll get ‘em back eventually, and it's not like I’m doing any hunting here. I keep reminding myself that he’s the one who got them for me anyways. He can replace them if need be.”

Geralt thought for a moment, then tilted his head in a shrug. “You’ll get them back. Eventually.”

“Yeah.” But Eskel still sounded like someone ran over his pet hamster. 

It was tempting to feel bad for him. But there was the fact that Eskel was still covered in enough weapons that he could probably easily go on a fairly lengthy murder spree and still not run out. Plus, while Matt understood the compulsion to keep favored weapons close at hand, it's not like Matt and his people were bums on the street. Trevor hired carefully and paid for the best. Eskel’s swords would have been well cared for. 

The spoon feeding went on in silence for a minute or two. Then Eskel looked at Matt and nodded towards a table filled with a rather lavish looking spread of various foods. 

“Help yourself. Babysitting is hungry work.”

Matt’s lips twitched in amusement at the wording. At least everyone was on the same page with what was happening here.

A sour expression twisted at Geralt’s face. “Everyone gets real food but me.”

“Yes, because yesterday your stomach was filled with poison arrows! Feel lucky you’re getting mush instead of clear broth!” Eskel held up a cup with straw for Geralt to sip from.

While Matt didn’t have any siblings, he could see the behaviors as clear as day. As pissy as they both were being, Eskel was careful and considerate with his nursing, and though Geralt talked a good game, he submitted to the care with a minimum of fuss. It was obvious they cared about each other. It also made for a pretty funny picture, but Matt was too much of a professional to show just how amused he was by the squabbling.

But as he watched, something about Eskel caught his eye. Some brownish red on either side of his collar. Dried blood.

He frowned, and pointed to the collar. “Did something happen?”

Geralt snorted softly in amusement, but still glowered a little. 

“I’m fine,” Eskel said dismissively, and fed Geralt another spoonful.

Right. Sure he was. The skin next to the collar looked fine, so whatever may have caused the bleed had already healed. Or maybe the blood came from someone else.

Since everyone who’d entered the room had come out of it safe and sound, Matt had to discount that theory. Unless Eskel had been stalking around murdering the nurses while everyone else was distracted. Matt couldn’t help but think of the trophy hook on Eskel’s belt. But that idea was ridiculous, too. The bloodstain was too small and placed too awkwardly for that.

Matt was tempted just to ask him, but held his tongue.

The grumbled, “Everyone else has all the fun,” from Geralt didn’t help ease his suspicions any, though. “I can’t believe you did it with both of them,” Geralt muttered under his breath.

_Oh wait what now._

A bit of a blush colored Eskel’s cheeks. “Like you wouldn’t,” he muttered back.

“I’ve been fucking trying for ages!” Geralt looked extremely sullen now.

Eskel cast him a sympathetic look. “Trust me. I know. In more detail than I ever wanted to.” He paused and held up the drink. As Geralt sipped, he glared. Eskel blushed a little harder, and looked off to the side, avoiding Geralt’s gaze. “We talked a bit. Once you’re better…they, I, might. Uh.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow at him. “Yeah?”

Eskel’s gaze flickered to Matt, so quickly that Matt almost missed it. “I donno. For me anyways, I donno. But you,” he raised an eyebrow and pointed the spoon at him. “Think of it as incentive to stay put. The less stress on your wounds, the faster you’ll heal.”

“The things you get up to when I’m not looking...” Geralt sighed, shaking his head sadly.

“Oh don’t give me that shit, Mr. Got Lost In A Castle And Staggered Out Bowlegged.” Eskel gave him a _look_. “Have you fucked the castle yet? There’s a betting pool for when you get around to it.”

Matt wasn’t even sure what the fuck they were talking about with the castle stuff, but he couldn’t help but think the conversation had veered wildly away from bloody shirts.

“I’m not stepping out on him!” Geralt looked wide eyed at Eskel. “Would you in my place?”

The look that crossed Eskel’s face was a complicated one, and he bought himself some time by feeding Geralt another bite.

“Only if I was feeling particularly suicidal,” he said finally. “But sometimes it's hard to tell what he’ll go for.”

Okay, now Matt was fairly damn sure they were talking about a shared lover, and he was guessing that lover was Belmont Senior. Which was mildly terrifying. Were they both kept...boys? Kept assassins? That theory also made a staggering amount of sense. Belmont Sr. clearly had a type. Big, scary, scarred to hell and back. Matt couldn’t imagine it though. There was something so wild, so untamed about the older Belmont, Matt couldn’t see him as anything but a potential threat.

What was more interesting was how much Trevor seemed to care about Geralt and Eskel as well. Usually, that sort of arrangement didn’t really lend itself to close ties with family members. Then again, after listening to them talk the other night, they all seemed to share similar terrible past experiences.

“He’s not that bad.” Geralt’s expression softened. “You just need to talk to him and be clear about what you want. He’s receptive.”

Eskel side-eyed him, and hummed noncommittally. He scraped the last spoonful out of the bowl and offered it to Geralt.

“So finishes the creamy carrot. You want another? Some egg? Maybe some fruit mush?”

That earned him another glare, but if it was because he skirted the conversation or if it was because of the mush, Matt couldn’t tell.

“I want real food,” Geralt said mournfully. “But give me the fruit mush.”

Eskel wandered over to the table, and looked around the bowls there. He snuck a bite or two of some bread while he looked. “I donno what half of these are. Smells sweet though. How about blue. Blue smells like a good option.”

While he got that ready, Matt spied the remote for the flatscreen on the wall. “You two want to watch Mr. Belmont’s press brief?”

The men looked at each other, looking strangely confused, and then back at Matt, nodding in unison. Matt had a sinking suspicion they didn’t know what a press conference was, but dismissed that notion as impossible.

He grabbed the remote off one of the end tables and turned on the TV. He did not expect the reaction that simple move made. As the image popped up on the screen, both men started in place, eyes wide, though Geralt’s flinch ended in a wince.

“Everything okay?” Matt asked, straightening up in alarm.

They looked at him in unison, and he was struck suddenly by the intensity of the gaze. He’d been able to mostly ignore their odd looking eyes, but the way they both focused on him like that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. There was something in the way their vertical pupils narrowed and honed in on him that felt vaguely predatory. 

_Sheltered_. Trevor said they were sheltered. 

An awful thought occurred to him. They’d been raised to do nothing but fight, and fight with blades at that. Geralt had side-eyed a hell of a lot in the hospital, from the x-rays to the automated bed to the monitors taped onto him. And now the TV. 

What if they’d never watched TV before? Matt had heard of some deeply fundamentalist religious groups who banned it within their sects, but he had to assume that the members at least knew what it was. Could wherever Eskel and Geralt have been raised be worse?

Then he thought about that creepy as shit lullaby.

_Yeah. Yeah, let’s go with worse._

Then another, even more awful thought struck him. If they haven’t seen any of the modern things like this hospital or the TV, yet still followed direction no matter how strange, that meant they had a type of obedience that sent shivers down Matt’s spine. 

“TV,” Matt said, waving a hand at the screen. He was aiming for casual and calm, hiding the tension deep down. Whatever they knew or didn’t, if he didn’t make a big deal out of it then they’d feel more at ease. With men that heavily armed, or wounded, the more at ease, the better. “Mr. Belmont’s question and answer session will be on in a few minutes. I just need to find the right broadcast channel.”

He specifically used the most explanatory language he could while still sounding normal. ‘Question and answer session’ instead of ‘press briefing’. ‘Broadcast channel’ instead of just ‘channel’. 

That seemed to help, because both Eskel and Geralt relaxed minutely, and nodded. It also had the added benefit of not making Matt sound like an utter idiot on the off chance that his assumptions were off target.

He flipped channels for a minute while they watched with rapt attention. After a moment, he brought up the channel guide on screen, and started scrolling though.

Matt paused to read the small font and barely paid attention to the pop up ad playing, showing commercials with half sound on.

It was the startled reaction from the witchers that pulled his attention back to what was showing on the screen.

“Alucard the Vampire, the ambitious remake of the cult movie from 1982!” the announcer was saying. _“He’s a knight born of darkness, a tortured soul trapped in a forever young body. He longs for love, yet is doomed to be eternally alone. While battling evil, this dark antihero brings out the hidden desires in the young heir of one of the most prominent families in Castlevania.”_

Across the screen flashed images of a handsome man with long, black hair, looking out over the city rooftops. His face was twisted into a grimace that showed off delicate fangs on his canine teeth.

Matt glanced back at Eskel and Geralt.

Eskel’s jaw was dropped to its widest extent, and Geralt had one bandaged hand shoved over his open mouth. Both of them had eyes so wide Matt could see the white all the way around the iris.

He looked back to the screen in time to see a flashing image of the handsome man crawling over a mostly naked woman. There was hunger in his eyes, and his teeth were slightly bared. She arched under him, gasping. The camera panned through a risqué shot down her side and over her naked thigh, cutting away just before something inappropriate for daytime TV was shown on screen.

Then there was a flash of some type of combat. This was followed by the clash of a combat cross chain as it wound around a sword, while two darkly dressed figures snarled ferally at each other.

There were a few other one-second flashes of various combat scenes and beautiful women with blood trailing down their necks.

_On Demand Now!_

“Alucard the Vampire,” Geralt said in a kind of awed glee.

“Oh Gods. _Alucard_\---” Eskel gaped.

“---The _Vampire_,” Geralt finished for him. He was clearly dying to laugh, his whole body hunched up with the effort not to.

“Do you think he saw it?” Eskel asked, eyes just as wide and voice hushed. His face was doing strange things, as if he was fighting ten emotions at once.

“I don’t care, I want to see it.”

They both turned to Matt. If their gaze was uncomfortable before, it was nothing compared to the absolutely ferocious focus they leveled on him now. 

“We need to see that,” Geralt said, his voice holding all the gravitas of a man delivering a death sentence.

Matt looked at the yellow ‘on demand’ button displayed prominently on the looping add. Trevor could afford to pay for one movie. He paused a moment, and looked at them.

“The press conference is going to start soon. Do you want to watch that, or the movie?”

They looked torn. 

“Can we watch both?”

“The question and answer thing will be shown in real time, so it’s broadcasted as it’s happening. The movie is a recording, we can start that any time we want, pause it, rewatch it.” Matt waved the remote at the TV. He still felt vaguely like he was being an idiot explaining it this way. But on the other hand, if they were insulted he was certain they would let him know. “Most stuff on TV are just recordings like that. If you want to see both, we can watch Mr. Belmont talk to the press, then put on the movie after?”

“Sounds like a good idea,” Eskel said, dragging his chair around so he was facing the TV. Geralt was mouthing something that looked suspiciously like _Alucard the Vampire_, with the oddest smirk on his face.

It took effort not to shake his head, but Matt was a professional. He could keep his incredulous disbelief to himself. 

After another minute of searching through the guide, he found the right channel and settled in to watch.

The brief hadn’t quite started yet; there were still people milling around, finding their seats. The chatter was quiet, but Matt could hear the note of excitement in the air. 

Not surprising. 

Trevor never talked about his private life, and any questions asked in that vein were deflected or refused. This would be the first time he allowed the subject at all. Matt sort of dreaded what questions might come out of it, and he dreaded the post conference speculation more.

“This is happening right now?” Eskel asked.

Matt nodded. “Downstairs. There’s probably a minute delay or so, but yeah, it’s live.”

“Reminds me of Triss’s megascope,” Geralt mused quietly. Whatever the fuck he was talking about, Eskel seemed to know because he just nodded in agreement. “Hey, can I have that blue stuff?”

“Oh, right.” Eskel absently scooched his chair closer to the bed and held out a spoon of the fruit mix. The effort wasn’t a great one. Neither one of the men were really paying attention. 

On the screen, John walked up to the microphone lectern. The press immediately settled down, taking their seats and holding up recorders.

“Mr. Belmont will be giving a short statement and then take a few questions.” John spoke clearly and calmly; by now this was old hat for him. Trevor got a lot of press, and John handled crowds like this with regularity.

There was a quiet excited murmur as John stepped away and Trevor stepped up. He looked smart and crisp, seemingly not noticing the multitude of flashes going up at him or the barely controlled murmur of the crowd. Matt was pleased to see that his security detail were all in place, looking calm and collected. He’d spent some time planning their movements, organizing where they should stand, and making sure they swept the room slowly and carefully. Every member of his team knew their job, but Matt liked to double check everything anyways.

“Thank you all for coming,” Trevor said evenly. “I know that there has been a great deal of speculation in the last two days, but I’d like to assure you all, I am in the best of health. Roughly a day and a half ago, a close family friend had a life threatening emergency. I immediately had us flown here for medical attention. Most of yesterday was spent in emergency surgery. To my vast relief, it was successful. I have to thank the wonderful staff here, as well as the hospital director, Dr. Bryce, for their swift expertise, incredible skill, and unfailing compassion in handling this delicate situation.”

There was a short pause, and then hands shot up as each reporter called out hoping to get their question answered first.

Trevor pointed at one in front.

“Mr. Belmont, can you tell us the identity of this close family friend?”

Matt had to swallow a laugh. Yeah, right. They always asked questions they knew they wouldn’t get answered.

“For security reasons, no. The Belmont family values privacy a great deal, so I appreciate the press’ discretion in that matter.”

That was also laugh-worthy. The press would dig as much as they could and everyone knew it. Only they hadn't dug up much about Trevor. Never even a hint of anything about his parents or his past, nothing about past relationships. Matt’s boss drove the collective representatives of various media insane with curiosity. He was an impossibility in the modern world, and up until now Matt not only had never needed to cover up any uncomfortable skeleton from Trevor’s past, but he also barely had to worry about his employer so much as stepping outside of the Tower.

Trevor pointed again, this time at a different side of the room.

“Are you willing to say what the nature of that life threatening emergency was?”

“For privacy reasons, no.”

Geralt and Eskel both snorted in amusement.

“Are there other members of your family here with you in the hospital?”

Trevor paused a moment. “My Father has visited.” 

After that, a rush of shouted questions flooded the air, all dealing with Belmont Sr., someone that there was _no_ public information on.

Matt had a terrifying moment of imagining Belmont Sr. going out to meet the press in his intimidating black suit and armored coat combo.

But Trevor held up a hand, quieting them instantly. “My Father values his privacy even more than I do. I won’t be answering any questions about him.”

The disappointment was palpable even in the broadcast.

“Will you be staying here until the hospital releases them?”

Trevor nodded. “I will.”

“How much longer do you anticipate being in the hospital?”

“We are unsure, but if all goes well only a few days, after which we will retire to a private location for the duration of the recovery.”

Matt noted the look of surprise on Geralt’s face, as well as the quick glance down to all the bandages.

“If you keep healing well, we’ll probably head out to the Tower soon,” Matt explained. “We need to make sure more surgery is unlikely, but after that the Tower will be more comfortable and more secure.”

Eskel fed Geralt another bite of fruit slush. “You all that worried about getting attacked?” he asked.

“Honestly? Yes. Mr. Belmont is both wealthy and famous. People are willing to do some really crazy things to get in on that. Plus there’s still the lingering threat of the Infected.”

While they chatted, the questions kept coming. From the sounds of things, Matt expected they were almost at the limit of what Trevor was willing to suffer through.

“Mr. Belmont! Is this close personal friend actually your significant other? Is there another addition to the Belmont family?”

Eskel and Geralt dissolved into snickers and giggles.

“Ow, ow, ow,” Geralt said in between laughs. “Oh gods, that hurts. Haha! Ow.”

Trevor blinked at the reporter, for once looking truly surprised. A small, sad smile crossed his lips. “I am afraid that my wife and only child died many years ago. No more questions.”

With that information bomb dropped, the press went crazy, shouting more questions at Trevor’s retreating form.

Matt stared, shocked speechless. Wife and child? Fuck. Not only was the man a child soldier, kidnapped as a little kid, but he also lost his own child, too? Matt suddenly felt his respect and sympathy for Trevor ratchet up. He’d survived the horrors of his past, and he also managed to do a lot of good in his life, too.

“I’m surprised he mentioned that,” Geralt said softly. “He doesn’t like to talk about it.”

“It’s a good bit of misdirection, though,” Eskel said, raising up another spoonful. “They’re gonna be so worked up over that old news that they’ll completely forget about looking into you.”

“You know him. He doesn’t like strangers knowing things about him,” Geralt said, watching the ads replacing the conference room image on the TV screen.

“He likes you significantly more than some brief discomfort.” Eskel pushed another spoonful of mush at Geralt.

Sensing that the mood was spiralling down, Matt turned the guide back on and switched to the on demand selections.

“So,” Matt asked, watching as the preview came up on the screen. “You want to see the movie now?”

That had the desired effect. Both Geralt and Eskel immediately looked at him like Matt had offered them a shopping spree through Knives R Us. 

“Yes.” Geralt nodded vigorously once, then winced. “Please.”

“Mind your stitches,” Eskel said sourly. 

“Don’t be so pissy, you’re not the one with the stitches.”

“I am the one who’s gonna have to calm everyone down if you decide to be a fucking idiot and re-injure yourself. Eat your mush.” Eskel glowered at Geralt, who had the grace to look abashed.

It was interesting that Eskel even acknowledged that. Was that an official part of his…job? Position? Or did he just take it upon himself to do it?

“Yes, mom,” Geralt mumbled around another spoon. For as much as the man kept eating the mush, he didn't seem any less hungry.

Eskel snickered, and scraped up another spoonful.

Matt set about getting the movie set up. While he fiddled with the buttons, he felt Eskel’s eyes on him.

He waited it out. The look didn’t feel menacing, just evaluating. 

“You should eat, too,” Eskel said, nodding towards the table. “Or get a drink.”

Matt shook his head. “I’m on duty. I’ll take a lunch break later.”

“You know nothing in this city can get through me to him, right?” Eskel tilted his head curiously. It wasn’t bravado. He said it like it was just plain fact. Frighteningly enough, from everything Matt had seen so far, he was starting to believe it.

“With one or two exceptions,” Geralt grumbled.

“Shut it, they’re on our side.” Eskel scowled at him and held up a drink which Geralt sipped at gratefully. He looked back to Matt. “I’m just saying, you look tense. There’s no need to be.”

Matt thought about Belmont Sr., and about all the things everyone involved with this whole affair was talking around. He thought about the blood on Trevor’s lips and Eskel’s collar, and the scars that all of them sported. 

“Says the man who didn’t want to give up his blades.” Geralt raised an eyebrow at Eskel. 

“Hush you. You sleep with things much more dangerous than simple blades.”

“So do you.”

Eskel looked like he swallowed a surprise lemon at that rebuttal.

“Shut up and eat your mush,” he grumbled, all but forcing the spoon into Geralt’s mouth.

The hell were they sleeping with? Rockets? On one hand, that level of paranoia was a little unsettling. On the other hand, given everything else that Matt had heard in the last day or two, just sleeping with some knives didn’t seem like that big a deal.

Matt pressed play on the film, and decided that a cup of coffee wouldn’t kill him, or them. Eskel had a point, after all. There were plenty of guards out in the hall. He was only in the room because both Belmonts had asked him to be. 

It turned out that the scrumptious spread didn’t offer anything with caffeine. Water, some iced and some flavored with lemons. A couple different kinds of juice. No coffee. Not even tea. It made sense, though, if they were trying to keep Geralt from taking any stimulants. Anything that would tax his system would be something to be avoided. 

He settled for a glass of apple juice and turned around just in time to see the gleeful looks on both Eskel and Geralt’s faces. The intro had just started, and already both men were practically vibrating with excitement. 

To be honest, he hadn’t really thought that they’d be the type to go for supernatural romance. Though if his suspicions were true, they probably didn’t have any preferences at all. If nothing else, both of them were consummate fighters, and Matt kind of dreaded their reaction to seeing the action scenes. He’d learned to watch adventure movies with a grain of salt, or really a whole truckload of it in some cases. They would be exposed to the ridiculousness of commercial movies for the first time.

Matt had never seen this film; it was still fairly new and sort of outside his regular area of interest, so he wasn’t sure what to expect. He had seen the original, but it had been a long time. 

Ominous music started playing, and the camera panned over parts of Castlevania City. Must have filmed on location, or at least got good aerial shots. Some credits flashed over.

“Is that the garden?” Eskel asked. “The forest one, not the herb garden.”

Geralt squinted and tilted his head. “It kinda looks like it? But that is definitely one of the towers.”

“Huh.” 

For all that the two of them seemed to be rather out of place here, they obviously recognized Castlevania City. Which was odd. They should have seen more tech, then, if that was the case. 

“I guess the city really was built over Dracula’s castle. So strange. It’s like the people here _literally ask_ for trouble.”

Cold dread pooled in Matt’s gut. They didn’t recognize Castlevania City. They recognized _Dracula’s Castle_. His jaw dropped. 

“You two---” He swallowed hard. “You two know the ruins of Dracula’s Castle, but not the rest of the city?”

Eskel and Geralt shot him a look, then looked at each other. 

“Honestly? Probably best you don’t know,” Eskel said. “Safer.”

That was a yes. That was definitely a yes. 

Matt thought of the City Memoirs that he’d read as a kid, and then thought of the strange nature of Geralt’s injuries and his and Eskel’s strange weaponry. 

Another stray thought hit him. When Trevor had told them that Dracula was alive, elsewhere, Ciri wasn’t surprised. She wasn’t even worried. It would make sense for Geralt and Eskel to have the same information she did. The implications kind of hurt his brain, so he shied away from them. Instead he tried to focus on the movie and not on how well the scenery fit into the old stories about Dracula’s castle.

The voiceover started. As Matt sort of expected, it was the smooth, cultured voice of the pretty boy actor they’d got to play Alucard. 

_“For over a thousand years, I have watched this city. Cared for it. Bled for it. In all that time, no sacrifice has pained me as much as the emptiness in my heart…”_

Commentary from the witchers on the ruins of Dracula’s castle was replaced by stifled snickering. When the camera panned to Alucard, with his long, black hair and a heavy flowing cape blowing in the night’s breeze, Eskel snorted, and Geralt rolled his eyes.

“The hair. Look at the hair.” Geralt waved a few fingers at the screen.

“Gods. This is great. This is so great,” Eskel said, one hand on his face, trying to hold in laughter. Matt wasn’t completely sure what was so funny, but as long as they were amused he was going to count the whole thing as a win.

“The hell is with that giant cross he’s got?” Geralt asked. 

That was probably rhetorical, but Matt answered anyways. “It’s a combat cross.” He raised an eyebrow at them. With their love of ancient weaponry, he was sort of surprised that they didn’t recognize it. “You know. Holy cross with an extendable chain on the end? Sometimes they have a weighted ball or blades at the end of the chain?”

They looked at him like he was the crazy one here. 

“Where the fuck does the thing keep the extra chain? How does it extend?” Eskel asked.

“If the point is to have something holy, why wouldn’t they just get a plain old chain, and put the blessed object at the damaging end? Wouldn’t that do more damage?” Geralt tilted his head in confusion. 

Matt shrugged. Not like he didn’t have the same exact questions when he was introduced to the idea of a combat cross as a kid.

“Maybe it’s magic?” he said off handedly

The really scary part was both Geralt and Eskel nodded, as if that was a perfectly acceptable answer. 

“Seems like a waste of power.” Eskel held up a spoonful to Geralt. “He could just carry a chain.”

“Are these things really a real weapon?” Geralt looked to Matt.

“They used to be. No idea if anyone uses them now,” Matt said with a shrug. “Legend has it that Alucard fought --- or _fights_, because many believe he’s still around somewhere --- demons, though the stories mix up how he goes about that. Some say he’s got a broadsword, others say combat cross, since that’s the traditional weapon of the Brotherhood of Light.”

He raised up an empty hand, absently showing his utter confusion. Matt had never really studied up on any of this stuff. Most of it had long since passed into myth and fanciful legend, anyways. How much was historical truth and how much was elaborate hyperbole was a hotly debated subject. 

Matt hadn’t thought about it much, himself. Maybe once upon a time there were creatures like that, but he’d assumed that most of it was rumors and scary stories, spread by people who had survived the rule of a terrible tyrant, and exaggerated by centuries of retelling. 

At this point, the film had sped along to some kind of combat. Matt had to admit, the effects were good. Alucard whipped his way through a series of vampires; each one was dressed in thematically appropriate gothic apparel and had glowing blue eyes and sharp fangs. The chain of the combat cross burned right through them, cutting them in half and turning them to ash. 

“Wait, wait, are these supposed to be vampires?” Geralt asked in between bites. 

“Lower bred vampires don’t look like that at all. And where are the bodies?!” Eskel shook his head. 

“Bodies?” Matt asked. Critique of the vampire slaying wasn’t really what he was expecting when he rented the film. Also, _lower bred vampires_? As if vampires in general were a thing that actually existed?

On second thought, he really should have expected this. 

“Can you imagine if they really did burn up?” Geralt looked at Eskel in horror. “We would get no pay at all.”

“Right?” Eskel just shook his head at the screen. “Hard to hook a pile of ash onto a belt. That’s a racket right there. Someone walks in, ‘Oh yeah, I killed all the vampires! Here’s the dust!’ and then just waltzes out with the bounty after forking over the leftovers from their fireplace.”

Matt’s jaw dropped. John was right. That…that couldn’t be true. 

Geralt turned to look at him, noticing his absolute shock. “You alright?”

There were still no words coming to mind, so Matt just snapped his jaw shut. He swallowed hard and tried to get his shit together. “What is it that you two actually do?” 

The question popped out unbidden, and he prayed to god that they would answer with something normal. Or at least vaguely normal.

“We’re witchers,” Eskel said with a smirk. “We kill monsters.”

“And get paid for our trouble,” Geralt added. “Gold, if people have it. Silver if they don’t. And sometimes other things, if they have no money to speak of. That’s how I got Ciri. I did a job, and they gave me her as payment when she was just a small child. My child of surprise.” He smiled softly, though it was hard to tell if he was pleased at a job well done or if he was just fond of his adopted daughter. 

Matt had no idea how to react. He knew perfectly well that in some places children had no value at all and were traded just like any other goods, sometimes even less than that. But to hear it in action was more than a little terrifying.

“Did you…did you ask for her?” he asked quietly, almost afraid to know the answer. Everything he’d seen and heard about Geralt implied that he was a kind and generous man. But what kind of monster stole someone’s child?

“It’s called the Law of Surprise,” Geralt explained nonchalantly. “If they don’t have anything to pay with, or want to gamble away the cost of the hunt, sometimes people invoke the law. Rather than paying in coin, they’re required to give the first thing that comes to them as a surprise. Something they don’t know that they have. In Duny’s case, it was a child. He wasn’t aware that he’d sired one.”

Well, that was slightly less horrifying than Geralt outright demanding a child as payment. Still. What the fuck kind of law was that? “They just…gave her to you after she was born?”

“A few years after, but eventually, yes. Her birth parents ended up passing away on a voyage. I claimed her from her grandmother when she was eight.” He smirked ruefully. “Her grandmother was pissed, but Ciri was pretty excited. I would have shown up earlier, but I was distracted by other hunts.”

A bit more of the horror drained out of Matt. That was still kind of awful, but not nearly as bad as it could have been. 

Still. 

“Could she go visit her birth family if she wanted?” None of this was any of Matt’s business, but now that he’d started down this rabbit hole he had to see where it led.

Geralt shrugged. “If she wanted to. Especially now that she’s older.” He looked almost like he was about to say more, but then the movie caught his attention again.

Alucard had just rescued a young woman from some kind of undead revenant. He carried her off, unconscious in his arms, away from the site of the attack. The camera cut to her waking on a lavish bed, decorated with with gauzy ivory curtains and plush pillows. As she awoke, she sat up, confused and worried. Circling around the bed in the shadows was the dark-clad figure of Alucard.

“If they only knew just _who_ likes the four poster bed monstrosity,” Geralt muttered with a strange grin.

Eskel snorted in amusement.

_“Who’s there?”_ she cried out.

_“I could ask you the same question,”_ Alucard’s voice rang through the darkness. _“Who is foolish enough to roam through these haunted ruins, so very alone?”_

_“I am Ava Belsera!”_

The name made Matt sigh and roll his eyes. Both Geralt and Eskel looked at him. 

“The name,” Matt said, pointing at the screen. “It’s clearly a rip off of the Belmonts.” He shook his head. “She’s supposed to be the last scion of a prominent family. The Belmonts have a reputation for being defenders of the Brotherhood of Light and humanity as a whole, going back centuries. These kinds of shows always like to play on that.”

“You mean…” Geralt’s eyes grew wide as dollar coins.

“She’s the stand in for Trevor,” Eskel whispered, his whole body tensing up with glee. He made this ridiculous _eeeeeee_ sound, before dropping his head on the bed and laughing. Geralt nearly followed suit, but managed to at least stay upright, no doubt because of his injuries.

“Trevor…” Geralt gasped. “The damsel in distress!”

“Saved by Alucard!” Eskel guffawed into the sheets. 

“Oh gods, oh gods, is she the love interest?” Geralt hit Eskel on the shoulder, urging him upward again, his eyes still glued on the screen.

“Holy fuck, are they going to make out?” Eskel straightened up, and leaned forward eagerly. 

Sure enough, the scene had progressed to the point where Alucard was sharing the same space with the young woman, his fanged mouth just barely an inch away from her parted lips. The closer they leaned together, the more tense Geralt and Eskel became.

“Do it, do it, do it, do it,” Geralt whispered almost to himself. 

“This cannot even be happening.” Eskel shook his head, still focusing on the screen with rapt attention. “This is great. I can’t wait to tell Lambert.”

Geralt took his eyes off the screen only long enough to give Eskel the strangest look of wide eyed glee, and then went back to watching the scene with rapt fascination.

Right before Alucard and Ava kissed, Alucard veered away, disappearing into the night.

“Nooooooooooooo!” Eskel shouted at the screen. 

“Boooooooooooooo!” Geralt couldn’t quite yell, but he clearly wanted to. Even after that effort, he held his chest and winced, but still looked more disgruntled at the screen than he did at the massive wounds on his torso still stapled together. 

“Awww, the fuck was that?” Eskel looked around the room, maybe for something to throw. 

“Cockblocked.” Geralt shook his head. “Fucking hell, you’d think that little make out session would be easier.”

“Maybe he should practice on a mirror first,” Eskel said, looking slyly at Geralt and grinning.

For whatever reason, that comment just slayed them both. Eskel was face first in the sheets again dying of laughter, and Geralt was gasping, nearly crying from it.

“Stop it,” Geralt said weakly, still silently laughing. “Stop the…the thing. I can’t. I can’t breathe.”

“Shit,” Matt swore quietly and paused the film. He stood up and walked over to the bed, edging towards the nurse call button. “Should I get someone in here?”

But Geralt shook his head. “It’s fine. I just…I just need a minute. Oh fuck, that hurts so bad.” He shook again with silent laughter, and wiped his eyes with a bandaged hand. 

Matt was feeling conflicted, unsure if he should let the man watch the movie at all if it caused this kind of reaction.

Eventually both men started to calm down, but every time they looked at the screen, it sparked another giggling fit. 

“We gotta take it easy, Geralt,” Eskel said in between snickers. “This can’t be good for you.”

“That can’t be good for him!” Geralt waved a shaking finger at the screen. “Look at that! For fucks sake. If he goes to brood in a corner after this I’m going to cry.”

Of course, the very first scene after that was Alucard shown standing lonesome in a darkened corner of a high rooftop, watching the city morosely.

“Fuck me,” Geralt said, choking back another laugh.

“I think they got their characters wrong,” Eskel said watching with a strange smirk on his face.

“Right? At least they got the setting right.” 

That was when Matt noticed the building that Alucard was lurking on was one of the ones that was still mostly made up of a building from Dracula’s time, a remnant of the castle. 

It was disturbing how fast they recognized the buildings. Actually, it also disturbed him how fast they were catching onto technology that they supposedly had never used or seen before. It implied adaptability and intelligence way beyond what he assumed when he first met them, and even then by no means had he thought either of them stupid.

“I wonder if they’ll show Alucard’s father in this,” Eskel said as they watched the action progress. Alucard was tracking the source of the new resurgence of the creepy crawlies in the city, sneakily killing his way through the city underground.

“I’m sort of terrified to see what they come up with,” Geralt said, easing back into his bed. He looked at Matt. “What does legend say about Alucard’s origins?”

“I’m not really an expert, but as far as I remember, the stories vary. Some say he’s Dracula’s son. Some say he was some other noble, or even a priest that had been so holy that he kept his soul even after being turned into a vampire.” Matt frowned. “The Church isn’t really keen on the legends, actually, but they don’t actively try to deter them. Every once in a while, some researcher or some such tries to get access to their records. Church records are the only reliable ones from the Dark Ages. They always get denied, though.”

“No fucking wonder, considering what they did,” Geralt muttered, sounding like he would very much like to spit on the Church. “Fucking double faced bastards.”

“You have something against the Brotherhood?” Matt asked, surprised. He himself didn't have much of an opinion. The Brotherhood was a fact of life; something that existed long before Matt and would exist long after him.

“Geralt,” Eskel warned, but his companion was clearly too agitated to listen as he’d already turned to Matt.

“They---” Geralt began.

“Don’t.” Eskel’s voice held warning, but not menace. “This isn’t for us to tell.”

Geralt swallowed and looked sour. He paused with his mouth open. It was obvious he was trying to find the right words. Hiding something, or at least not letting himself speak plainly. “You said that every Belmont was a champion for the Brotherhood, right?”

“Yes,” Matt answered cautiously. That was general knowledge, every kid learned that in school.

“And Trevor and his father are Belmonts right?”

Matt nodded, not seeing the connection yet.

“They are fighters, too. Do you really think every single child of that line _wanted_ to be raised like they were?”

An awful truth unfolded for Matt as he put the pieces together. Both Trevor and his father were raised in barracks, trained to fight and kill. He hadn’t made the connection before this moment. If they were champions of the Brotherhood of Light, and they were raised in such a manner, then it was the Brotherhood that did that to them. The church itself stole Trevor away from his mother the day he was born, and raised him to fight. Matt thought about how his boss had never, ever, not _once_ spoken of the church in a fond light. Or even at all, if he could help it. 

It was tempting to say that the church did what it had to, to fight the creatures of Darkness…but what creatures of Darkness? Even if there _were_ such things, Dracula had been banished centuries ago. Humans had long since reclaimed every last bit of land. 

“Also, a hint,” Geralt said, watching Matt’s face carefully. “Don’t ever mention the Brotherhood anywhere that Trevor’s father might hear.”

Eskel actually shuddered at that.

The sick pool of dread and suspicion that had been growing inside of Matt since this whole crazy thing started swelled up once more. Eskel. Brave, fearless, Eskel, who had stepped in front of Belmont Sr. while he was in full rage. Even he wasn’t willing to mention the Brotherhood where Belmont Sr. could hear him. 

Still, Matt was a careful person, willing to confirm his suspicions multiple times before acting on them.

“Would you?” he asked Eskel, remembering the affection Belmont Sr. seemed to have for the man. “If there was a need, would you mention it to him?”

Eskel pursed his lips. “If there was an actual need. Or if he brought it up first.” He licked his lips. “He likes me. I would probably escape without any permanent damage.”

Permanent damage. Matt looked at Geralt, who survived what no normal human should have, and would most probably have no permanent damage after. The very idea that Belmont Sr. could cause similar levels of damage was terrifying. Both in the kind of cruelty the man was clearly capable of and in the implied reaction.

But then Matt remembered that his boss already brought the Brotherhood up, when Eskel had first arrived.

“Mr. Belmont mentioned it to his father, in this very room,” he said. “Belmont Sr. looked angry, but he didn’t seem unreasonable.”

“That’s because it was Trevor saying it,” Geralt answered. “And his father was trying very, very hard to be nice. And I do mean he went way out of his way here.” He smiled, a wry little smile. “What his son can get away with, nobody else can even dream of.”

Then Geralt looked at Eskel and motioned at him with one hand. “Case in point.”

Eskel blushed. “Watch the damn story,” he grumbled.

And like that, they’d lost Matt again. By now, though, he felt comfortable enough with them to actually ask about it.

“What’s the case in point?”

The blush on Eskel’s cheeks grew. “Nothing. Just that I should be dead, many times over. Because I am a fucking idiot.”

“Apparently he’s very good at cuddling,” Geralt informed Matt with that strange sparkle in his eyes. It was the same look that made Matt think Geralt and Belmont Sr. were lovers. Matt seriously had to wonder who the cuddling comment applied to, and why Eskel needed Trevor to vouch for him.

“Geralt,” Eskel growled. “It would take so little to murder you right now. So very, very little.”

“We both know you won’t,” Geralt said with a scoff.

Eskel looked at him with a narrow-eyed glare, one that made Matt think he was considering methods of revenge. 

“Let’s watch the movie, okay?” Matt asked. His head was spinning with trying to figure out who was sleeping with who in this triangle. It was worse than a Spanish telenovela. Next thing he would learn is that it was not only did Belmont Sr. that had his own little harem, but that Trevor did, too. Ridiculous.

“Hmmmmm.” Eskel gave Geralt a cool gaze for a while longer, but reluctantly turned his attention back to the TV. “Did I tell you I ran into Hans Gerhard a few weeks ago while I was in Ard Carraigh?” he asked offhandedly. Geralt froze in place. “He seemed really worried about you.”

“Oh?” Geralt’s eyes grew wide and his gaze slid over to Eskel. He swallowed hard. “Is, uh, that so?”

“Mmmhmmm. Boy, did he have some stories. Poor man was pretty concerned.” Eskel kept up the nonchalance, but it was clearly a calculated effect.

“He wouldn’t,” Geralt said desperately, his eyes getting steadily wider.

“Oh, yes he did,” Eskel said with a smirk. “In loving detail even. Let’s watch the story, eh?” Eskel grinned at him. 

“Yes.” Geralt nodded eagerly. “Please.”

Matt held back his amusement at the bickering, despite his lack of knowledge of what they were talking about. They really did act like brothers. 

There was some more plot development in the film as Alucard went to see his contacts in the city. Matt had to admit that the side characters were pretty interesting and well designed. For all that they had very little screen time, they were well fleshed out. After a bit of a conversation about how Alucard and Ava’s families were connected, there was a flashback scene. 

Alucard was shown as a young boy in medieval clothing sitting under an apple tree. He was listening attentively to an older man, a frail and gentle looking scholar, talk about the sanctity of life, about the responsibility of the nobility to protect those less fortunate than them. It was a beautiful scene, very emotional and well played.

“Oh Gods.” It was Eskel, eyes wide and jaw dropped, apparently trying not to choke on laughter. Geralt looked even worse. He was red in the face, and his eyes were watering as he tried to breathe through gurgling laughter.

“The sanctity of life,” Geralt said, his voice high and strained. 

“Be kind to all things,” Eskel replied, equally strained.

“Do not use your power lightly,” Geralt choked out, sounding like a dying mouse.

“True strength lies in restraint.” Tears were welling up in Eskel’s eyes, and he was practically biting on his fist to keep quiet.

“You two don’t approve of the message?” Matt asked, both curious and mildly concerned. It was obvious these two had killed before. Maybe often. But, still, they seemed like decent men. He didn’t expect that level of irreverence from them at the peaceful message.

“Oh, no. No, that’s fine.” Eskel waved a hand at him, still choking back laughter. “It’s just---” That was when he lost it, guffawing into his hands so hard he doubled over.

“Just imagine,” Geralt squeaked out. “Gabriel Belmont....” He waved at the TV. “Saying that.”

Matt blinked. The very idea of casting Belmont Sr. in the role of Alucard’s father was odd, but if he followed the thought and imagined Belmont Sr. in place of that older, frail man...saying those things…yes, okay, the image was hilarious. Mostly because he thought that Belmont Sr. would probably choke halfway through the first sentence. If Matt was kind of disturbed that they both put Belmont Sr. in as the parent figure, he put it out of his mind.

The laughing got so bad that Matt had to pause the movie again, just to give Geralt a chance to calm down. 

“Break time, boys,” he said. “Get a drink, take a breath.” They were gasping too hard to object, so Matt figured he made the right call.

He pulled out his phone and sent a quick message to John.

_ETA for you guys getting back?_

The response was prompt. _2h. How are Geralt and Eskel holding up?_

_Happy and occupied_, Matt sent back. The little dot dot dot mark under John’s name kept flashing and Matt waited. And waited. It took long enough that Matt had to wonder just what was up.

_ETA 1h_ came after a few more seconds.

“Looks like the boss will be back in about an hour,” he announced to the room, smothering a snort of amusement. 

“Shit,” Geralt and Eskel chorused.

“Quick, put it back on.” Geralt waved a hand at the TV. “We need to watch as much as we can before Trevor gets back.”

Eskel nodded furiously. “We’ll be good. See?” He grabbed the forgotten blue mush bowl and held up a spoon. “He can eat while we watch.”

Matt narrowed his eyes at them but cautiously put the movie back on. As much as Geralt’s incessant laughter worried him, it was a good movie. Plus, watching those two lose it for no apparent reason was entertaining, too.

The movie progressed. Plot was woven in with progressively more naughty scenes with Ava and, apparently, a surprise threesome with two pretty vampires. Because of course that’s how saving the city goes. Kill some creepy crawlies during the night, get shagged within an inch of his life by two hot ladies during the day. 

The camera work was bold. Never as crude as outright porn, but it was still pretty easy to imagine what was happening just out of view. Lots of interesting positions and even more interesting conversations. Matt had to squirm in his seat a little as the blond vampiress described just what she wanted Alucard to do to her, and then again at her breathy little encouragements when he obviously delivered.

“Having two lovers at once is the best,” Geralt said with a happy and mildly wistful sigh.

Eskel nodded, a similar nostalgic smirk on his face.

Matt shifted uncomfortably. He’d never had two lovers at once. While that had never been a problem before, he didn’t quite want to admit it out loud in front of two men who obviously had vast experience with threesomes. Maybe it was a monster hunter thing? Most of the men he talked to didn’t have quite so adventurous a love life. Or possible cult life.

Part way through the sex scene, Alucard dramatically opened his mouth, showing off his fangs, and then bit into one of the women. She moaned with pleasure and arched into it.

For whatever reason, _that_ was the thing that made Geralt and Eskel’s cheeks turn pink. Not that Matt really blamed them; blood wasn’t really a turn on for him, but the way the characters rocked together wrapped up in sensual pleasure was pretty hot.

“On one hand, there’s the idea of Alucard the Vampire feeding on two beautiful women.” Geralt shook his head a little bit. “On the other hand, it’s _Alucard feeding on two women_.”

“Right? Kind of a silly spot to bite, too. She’d bleed out so fast.” Eskel huffed in laughter.

“Looks good though,” Geralt murmured. “All that hair against those pale thighs.”

“You and your hair fetish.”

“Look at this and tell me it’s not hot.” Geralt pointed at the screen where things were obviously reaching a crescendo. The moans were surprisingly loud. Something about the acoustics of the room, maybe.

For a moment it looked like Eskel was going to argue. Then he just pursed his lips. “Yeah, it's hot.” An evil smile crossed his face. “We should make Trevor watch this.”

Now that was something Matt didn’t ever want to think about. He felt grateful enough that he never had to deal with any of his boss’ past indiscretions. Finding out what kind of sex scene got Trevor going would be worse.

“I think he might kill us before we even get to this scene,” Geralt said. His eyes were still glued to the screen.

“He might be too frozen by horror,” Eskel said pragmatically. “If we distracted him during the other scenes, we could get him to watch this one.”

“That might work.”

“Does Trevor ever watch stories like this?” Eskel asked Matt, waving a finger at the screen.

Matt answered before he had the time to think what he was saying.

“I have never seen him do anything but work.” Then he paused to think about that statement and realized how sadly true it was. Trevor never went out to parties, unless it was a company or press gala. He never entertained guests. He never even went out to a restaurant unless it was a corporate thing.

Both Geralt and Eskel frowned. 

“We need to fix that,” Geralt mused.

Matt approved. He wouldn’t mind some extra work with securing Trevor if it meant that the man got some fun in his life, especially in light of all the recent developments. The things he’d already gone through…Trevor deserved some joy. It might be a good plan to collect some ideas for Geralt and Eskel to propose to Trevor. John could help, too.

“Not really a surprise, though, is it,” Eskel said with a sigh.

“Kinda hard to gauge. We work all the time, too.” Geralt pursed his lips. “Hunting, sex, and making potions. That’s about it.”

Matt raised his eyebrows. That was a hell of a life, though he had to wonder about the potions thing. It had been mentioned more than once in the past couple days, and he was really starting to wonder if they were all meth addicts. 

Eskel snorted. “We tend to enjoy our pay when we have it in hand.”

“Ha. True. Although I’m far more flush with coin now that I skip the brothels.” Geralt smirked happily again.

“You and your lovers are ridiculous. I don’t know how you’re not dead. Or walking with a permanent limp.” Eskel shook his head and held up a spoonful of mush.

Given Geralt’s abilities, those had to be some lovers. Also, lovers? Plural? How many did the man have? Was it like a multiple wives thing? Or husbands, if Matt understood the limp comment correctly.

“Who would have thought the mutations would be helpful with this, huh?” Geralt said with a grin.

“Pfft, it’s not like you weren’t taking full advantage before. All us witchers do. Now you just found partners who can keep up.” Eskel gave a short huff. “Plus extra.”

Geralt pointed towards the TV. “Hush. We need to watch how it ends before Trevor comes back, or we may not get a chance.”

Matt didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed that he wouldn’t hear more. Already Geralt and Eskel had been far more forthcoming than he expected, even if their answers didn’t always make sense.

Eskel promptly quieted down, but still proceeded to push food on Geralt. They continued on absently, most of their focus on the TV.

The movie was clearly reaching its climax, with old allies changing sides and betraying Alucard at every step. In a furious display of fighting ability---that caused another round of hoots from the two witchers---Alucard and Ava brought her father’s company down in a great blaze of fire.

Geralt and Eskel cheered like they were at a sporting event when Alucard cut off the villain’s head. Right after that, the body and severed head turned to ash, and the cheering turned to boo’s. 

“Now he can’t get paid!” Eskel bitched, tossing up one hand in disgust.

Matt looked at how Alucard was enthusiastically swapping spit with Ava, and raised an eyebrow. “Pretty sure he’s looking at a reward of another type.” 

“But…money!” Eskel sounded personally offended. Matt had to lower his head to hide the smile that kept trying to creep up onto his face. 

The credits rolled by and music swelled. All in all, it was pretty entertaining. Not quite as funny as watching Geralt and Eskel react to it, but well made. No wonder it did so well in the theaters. 

“Amazing,” Geralt said, in between offered sips of water from Eskel. 

“Pretty good for a remake,” Matt said, nodding in agreement. He looked around for the TV remote and wondered if they’d want to watch it again. Probably. 

Then he realized the room had gone deathly quiet. He looked up to find both Eskel and Geralt staring at him like he owed them money. 

“Remake,” Geralt said.

“Meaning there is another one of these?” Eskel added.

“Yes?” Matt answered cautiously, the little hairs on the back of his neck raising up.

“Can we watch it?” Geralt asked, though the intensity of his question was broken by the huge yawn after it.

Matt waited a moment to respond. He took note of Geralt’s blinks, and he could see how the time lengthened for each one. Geralt was excited and fighting to stay awake, but Matt could see the exhaustion dragging at him. The brain was willing but the body was succumbing slowly to the damage. Matt considered his options carefully.

Eskel eyed Geralt, too, and a very slight wrinkle showed up on his brow. He looked down to Geralt’s hands, and Matt saw how they shook just the tiniest bit.

“After a short break, eh?” Eskel said. “I gotta get up and walk around the room. All this sitting in one place is driving me bonkers. Might get a bite to eat, too.”

Geralt all but gasped.

“Food,” he said in the voice of a starving man denied a measly piece of bread.

The look Eskel gave him was completely unimpressed. “Tomorrow, if you’re healing fine. You bust something in there”---he pointed to Geralt’s gut---“and they’re gonna have to cut you open again to get it cleaned out. Can you imagine the look on Trevor’s face?” He raised his eyebrows and leaned in, lowering his voice. “Or his father?”

“Er.” Geralt clearly lost his steam at the mention of the Belmonts. Especially Trevor’s father. “We could not tell him?” he asked after a moment, but he didn’t sound too confident.

If Eskel looked unimpressed before, now he looked down right unamused. 

“Just a reminder,” Matt said calmly, “I’m _literally_ paid to snitch on you.”

Eskel just pointed to Matt, as if to say, _see?_ Then his expression softened. “It’ll be over soon, Geralt. Just sleep it off, and before you know it you’ll be back to eating us out of house and home.”

“Can we at least watch the threesome scene again?” Geralt sounded so hopeful, Matt felt bad even thinking of denying him.

Eskel gave a little shrug, and then looked at Matt and raised an eyebrow. “Sounds reasonable.” Then he looked at Geralt. “We should lower your bed a little bit though, just so you can rest easier.”

That earned him a hard side-eye, but Geralt sighed and nodded. 

Matt made sure to say nothing and started to rewind the movie, looking for the, frankly, extremely hot scene. This wasn’t what he expected to be doing when he got in to work today. He was all ready to fend off knife attacks or listen to more crazy-as-shit ghost stories. Not watch almost-porn On Demand. 

As the scene started up again, Eskel and Geralt settled in to watch. Matt could see that Eskel was keeping a subtle eye on Geralt, though. 

Sure enough, just minutes into it and Geralt was nodding off.

At that point, Eskel abandoned watching the movie and watched Geralt a little more obviously. Maybe making sure he was really down for the count. When a few more minutes had passed and Geralt looked truly, deeply asleep, Eskel leaned back and sighed. 

“Yay, food time,” he said softly, and got up to head over to the buffet table.

“Should I stop the movie?” Matt asked, just as quietly.

“Hell, no. Keep it going. That’s hot as fuck.” Eskel grinned at him wolfishly. He proceeded to pile a plate with an incredible amount of food, and took his seat back at Geralt’s side, clearly ready to enjoy the rest of the film again.

Matt suppressed a sigh and got a drink refill himself. 

Within the first few minutes, Eskel had emptied his plate and then went back to the buffet table to pile another load of food on. Matt got up to get himself some water, strangely uncomfortable with watching Eskel watch the almost-porn. 

“That’s probably the worst part for Geralt,” Eskel said randomly.

“What?” 

Eskel pointed at the screen. “No sex until he’s healed up. Pain, eh, whatever. Injuries happen. We barely feel them most times. Or we suppress the pain. But this is gonna drive him nuts.”

That made Matt blink. “You’re telling me that after having his organs taken out, stitched up, and then put back inside of him, it’s the lack of sex that’s gonna really bother him?”

Eskel just nodded, looking almost sympathetic to Geralt’s plight. He tilted his head a little, as if listening to something. Then he turned and looked at Matt. “Would you mind turning up the sound just a little? Geralt is pretty damn deep asleep. It won’t bother him any.”

The movie was right in the middle of that sex scene, complete with moaning and cries of pleasure. Matt closed his eyes for a moment and used every bit of his willpower to not facepalm. Because of course Eskel wanted to hear this part extra loud.

Rather than answering, he just grabbed the remote, ticked up the volume a few notches, and resigned himself to listening to two women moaning out, “Alucard!” for the next several minutes. At least he knew it wouldn’t last forever.

The door opening was almost a relief. He turned to greet his boss and was struck with the image of Trevor, his cool and collected, level-headed boss, frozen mid-step as he entered the room. Trevor’s eyes were wide and his lips parted as he stared first at the screen, and a gentle flush rose high on his cheeks. He stayed frozen for several long seconds, his face frozen and his eyes wide. The cries of _Alucard_ and _yes_ and _more_ reached a crescendo just as Trevor turned to stare at Eskel. Matt noticed the flush was now creeping down Trevor’s neck, too.

Eskel looked absolutely guilty as he tried, and failed, to hide his grin behind the food he was shovelling into his mouth. 

Trevor transferred his gaze to Geralt, who was now snoring very, very quietly in his bed, proving once and for all that Trevor knew Geralt really well and suspected him of being the instigator. Then he turned to stare at Matt, face full of betrayal.

Matt swallowed, feeling as if he kicked a puppy.

“Geralt insisted.” Matt wasn’t above throwing Geralt to the wolves if needed. After all, it was Geralt’s idea in the first place. Matt was merely the hapless witness. He shrugged a bit, and added, “He seemed to be really entertained?” 

That set off a short round of barely concealed snickers from Eskel.

“So, so entertained,” Eskel said as soon as he swallowed and cleared his mouth. “So amazingly entertained. Matt says there’s an older version, too. Are there books?” He looked to Matt, raising an eyebrow in question. “I hope there are books.”

Trevor just stared at him, his eyes just a little wide and his face flushed pink. He opened his mouth to speak, but then shut it again. The silence was unnerving, and Matt couldn’t help but wonder if he’d done something really wrong by showing a random movie to them.

It was just a movie. Granted, one that took some potshots at the Belmont family legacy, but not directly. It was all sort of inferred. 

“Don’t worry, Eskel,” Trevor said, not quite looking at anything. Especially not at the screen where the movie still played. “I will tell my Father about the kind of entertainment you like.”

Now it was Eskel’s turn to freeze in place. Then he swallowed hard. He had this look like he was considering if it was worth it. Finally, he slumped a little bit and let out a huff. “Shit,” he cursed under his breath.

Matt nearly snorted in amusement. The way these three used Belmont Sr. as a threat among each other was sort of hilarious. He especially couldn’t quite deal with the fact that, “I’m telling dad on you,” still worked with grown men. 

Then again, he’d met Belmont Sr., and found he couldn’t quite blame them for the reaction.

“Have you seen these stories before?” Eskel asked Trevor, serious once again. “Did you know about them?”

“I did my best not to know more than the fact they existed,” Trevor said in a choked down voice. 

For a moment, Eskel actually looked sympathetic. Then his gaze shifted back to the screen and he was smirking all over again. “You know that Geralt is gonna want to watch more of this, right?”

Trevor sighed and rubbed his eyes, and the pink on his cheeks got a little darker. He finally started to move again, heading over to take a seat on the couch. “Of course. But until then, I would like some peace.”

As Eskel was nodding in agreement, Matt turned off the movie. After all, he worked for Trevor. Although he had the sneaking suspicion that if he tried to stop Geralt and Eskel from watching the Alucard movies again later, he’d have more trouble on his hands than he expected. 

“How is he?” Trevor asked as he settled in to the seat.

“About as expected,” Eskel said. Then he looked a bit sheepish. “He maybe went a little overboard laughing at the story”---he waved a hand at the TV---“but honestly I think it would have gone worse if there was nothing for him to do. If they’re not too expensive, you might want to think about getting him some books to read. He’s already going mad stuck in that bed, and it’s only going to get worse.”

Matt blinked. “If it’s not too expensive?” he couldn’t help but ask, because _what the fuck_. 

There was a pause as Eskel looked at him, and Matt suddenly wasn’t sure if he’d accidentally offended the man or not. 

“Printed text is pricey where we’re from,” Eskel said finally. Which, again, made Matt wonder just where the fuck these two hailed from. What ass end of nowhere third world country did they live in that didn’t have books available?

“I can easily afford books,” Trevor said softly. “Something on herbalism?” 

Matt couldn't help but notice how gentle his voice was. He didn't notice before, probably because Trevor had spoken that way all the time here in the hospital, but after hearing his calm, cold voice during the press conference this was a shocking contrast. After a moment of thought, Matt realized that this softer tone showed up whenever Trevor spoke to any of the new arrivals. 

“Herbalism. Bestiary. Geography. Maybe some poetry if you know of a good volume. He likes stuff with a good meter. Skip any epic adventures, we all get enough of that. I know you’d hate it, but he’d read the hell out of anything about this...” Eskel licked his lips and smiled wryly. “...Alucard the Vampire legend.”

It was sort of surprising to hear such a serious set of subjects. Matt would have expected that both Eskel and Geralt would be more the pulp action type. This only reinforced the idea that they were both far smarter than maybe he originally gave him credit for.

“No erotic novels?” Trevor asked wryly.

“Oh, sure, if you like,” Eskel said with a grin. “But I thought the point was to keep him calm.” His expression sobered up. “But seriously, I think that might make him more annoyed, and mad to get out of bed. He’s already anxious enough with the lack of…with everything. And the smells here. I don’t know how you can stand it.” Eskel wrinkled his nose. 

“You are right,” Trevor sighed. “What was I thinking.”

“You were thinking about the million other things that are needed to make all of this work well,” Eskel said. “You’ve got a lot going on. That’s why we’re around.” He waved a hand towards Matt and John. “To help.”

“I can draw up a book list for your approval?” John said. “We could have them delivered quite quickly.”

Trevor looked at Matt suddenly, something hiding in his eyes before he turned to Eskel.

“I tried contacting Father,” he said eventually.

“Tried.” Eskel straightened up, his face turned grim. Without even a glance to the side, he set his now empty plate on the end table nearby and focused all his attention on Trevor.

“Yes,” Trevor confirmed. “I couldn't get through. It’s as if nothing’s there to contact at all anymore.” He spread his arms, betraying nerves he was keeping under wraps until then. “I got nothing at all.”

“Well, that’s concerning.” Eskel bit his lip and furrowed his brow. “Should I not have come here? I could have waited in Kaer Morhen. Or at…your father’s home.”

“I prefer you here,” Trevor said immediately. “I wasn’t even aware he could…move the whole thing like that. Or lock it down. Or whatever the hell he did, but at least I know you are safe here.”

All of the blood drained out of Eskel’s face and his jaw dropped in shock. “Move it? He could do that?”

John and Matt exchanged a narrow eyed look. It was obvious that Trevor and Eskel were talking around _something_, but what exactly that was Matt didn’t really have any idea. It was unsettling just how much he didn’t know about his boss’ life. What was more disturbing was the notion that Belmont Sr. had just gone AWOL.

“This is my Father we are talking about,” Trevor said grimly. “What limits are there that apply to him?”

\--


	7. Chapter 7

Vesemir felt himself waking up, but he could tell there wasn’t any sunlight reaching his room yet, so he only rolled over in his bed, squished the flat little pillow more comfortably into the crook of his shoulder, and made himself drift off to sleep again. 

The next wake-up happened not long after that and he remembered getting irritated at himself for this constant sleep interruption. He would be so damn tired come morning. 

When the sun finally did start to shine through his bedroom window, he actually felt very, very well rested. Despite all the interruptions. 

Vesemir sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes. There was a notable lack of sex demons in his room. While that was odd, it wasn’t unheard of, so he shrugged it off. Maybe they had other things to do? 

He promptly made sure not to think about what chore _all three of them_ would be needed for at the same time. 

Or partner. Maybe Eskel had showed back up sometime in the night. Vesemir paused in his dressing and wondered briefly if the succubi had finally guilted Eskel into fucking the incubus. He shook his head and pushed that out of his mind as well. 

He spent a few minutes rummaging around the room, gathering up clean clothes for the day and the rest of his gear. 

Something in the window caught his eye. He grabbed a new shirt, and wandered over to the glass to take a look. 

What he saw made him freeze in place.

There was a wall and a tower out there. And buildings. Low buildings, high buildings, and towers that stretched up far into the air, so high he couldn't see their tops for the clouds. He rubbed his eyes because there were also...additional mountains? 

Kaer Morhen was built into the side of a mountain, and they were nestled right into a long valley framed with much smaller mountains that eventually tapered off into gentle hills. Farther behind the keep to the east at the border between Kaedwen and Hakland, the Blue Mountains rose higher, but the peaks around Kaer Morhen weren’t nearly as tall as those.

Now there were huge-ass _foreign_ mountains around the mountains that he was used to. A massive range of steel grey peaks topped with shining white snow caps. As with some of the towers he could see from his window, the mountains reached high beyond the cloud cover, making it impossible to judge how high they really were.

Vesemir blinked. Then rubbed his face. Then blinked again.

Still there. The wall wrapping around the side of the mountain Kaer Morhen was built into had blocked out the sun, stopping it from shining into his room until now. From the looks of things, it was already mid morning or later. 

He stood there, staring. 

How the _fuck_ did a bunch of buildings just…_move in_ around Kaer Morhen in the middle of the night?

He couldn't see that much from his window. He needed to go out, get a horse and investigate the buildings immediately, even if he already knew who was to blame for this insanity.

_Geralt._

“This is what happens when you fuck chaos gods, you idiot,” Vesemir muttered to himself. Some mix between frustration, fury, and worry raced through him. What the hell had happened? And why the _fuck_ was Kaer Morhen in the middle of it? Literally. Suddenly, the urge to get outside and see just how much around their keep had changed magnified by about a thousand. 

He flung on the rest of his clothes and gear, and dashed down the stairs. As he moved, he peeked in a few of the other doors. No sign of any of the succubi or the incubus. No sign of anyone. On his way through the kitchen he grabbed a bit of bread from the previous day and headed straight to the stable. Usually the kitchen had fresh bread; a result of Dracula’s unseen servants tending to the fire and providing basic supplies. But there was none today. No new loaves resting on the table, no hot water on the hob.

Night wasn’t in the stables, though Vesemir’s own horse was still there eating hay placidly in its stall. The courtyard was empty, too. The demon horse was nowhere to be found. The sudden lack of Dracula’s minions made the tension ratchet up in his body. It was funny just how much he’d gotten used to them all living around him.

Within moments his beast was saddled, his cloak was wrapped tightly around his shoulders, and they were through the courtyard and out the front gate. 

Just looking around from that vantage didn’t actually help much. The massive wall that extended through the valley stretched behind the mountain Kaer Morhen was built into. He’d have to head down to the river to get a better view. Maybe follow the wall around a bit. 

The farther out he rode, the more buildings he saw, though none of them invaded the forested valley that Kaer Morhen overlooked. 

A few smaller structures stood nestled into the massive wall now encircling Kaer Morhen, and the rest stretched out into the mountains behind the keep, turning into a vast city. The architecture was like nothing he’d ever seen, either. There were tall, pointed spires and enormous statues so large he could see them from clear across the valley. It all looked almost organic, but sharp and grim, too. The stone they were made of was dark and smooth, seemingly untouched by the winds and rains, and large windows graced several of the buildings, their glass shining like sheets of ice in the sun. The way the lines of the buildings flowed reminded Vesemir a bit of hawthorn spines in winter, wickedly pointed but beautiful in their own way.

Vesemir made his way down the Witcher’s Trail that ran around the keep, and out towards the river in the valley. The trail itself was a hard one, former students often called it The Killer, but Vesemir had been riding it for many, many decades now, around four centuries at this point, and he found it no problem at all. He knew its twists and turns like he knew himself. 

When he finally got into the valley proper, he headed towards the river. Occasionally there were breaks in the tree cover. Most of the forest here was made up of various types of pine, but other deciduous trees were sprinkled in. The first tiny buds of spring had just started to form on their twigs, but it wasn’t nearly time for actual leaves to come out. Snow speckled the ground here and there, and the sun was warm on his dark cloak. 

Nothing in the forest appeared to be changed. The Trail was exactly as he knew it. But when he steered his horse towards the river proper, he could see that the water level was much higher than it should be at this time of the year. The river was fast-flowing enough that it never froze, but there should still be some ice visible along the edges of the water. Instead it flooded up onto the icy banks, making his horse hesitant to approach.

He dismounted, approached the water cautiously, and crouched down. He pulled his glove off and stuck his hand into the freezing water. Four inches under the surface he could feel the ice that should be framing the banks of the tempestuous river. Now it was under water. He pulled his hand out and shook it off, before stuffing it into his glove. The water level was far higher than expected and as cold as it was, Vesemir still expected it to be colder. His hand was chilled, but not numb as it should have been. 

There was another source feeding into the river now. Or, perhaps, something else was heating the water.

He got up and mounted his horse again, nudging it back towards the trail.

He had to wonder why his medallion hadn't woken him up. Granted, Vesemir didn’t spend much time out on the Path any longer, but he’d hunted monsters for a very, very long time. The reactions were still ingrained. At the first vibration of his medallion, he would have been wide awake.

But it didn’t even twitch. Not once. 

He looked to his wolf’s head medallion, and for the first time wondered if maybe it was broken.

Taking an easy pace, he wound his way along the river bank, following it towards the side of the massive wall that was slowly rising up in front of him. It looked like the river would end up passing through right by one of the massive towers that he’d seen from his window. 

The closer he got to the wall, the more he could feel the energy of the land around him change. There was a dark, chaotic feel to it. Demonic. But not as hostile as he expected. Then again, he’d been living with Dracula’s dark energy infesting Kaer Morhen for over a year now. This felt very similar to that. Older though, perhaps. There was a weight to the feeling that Vesemir couldn’t quite put his finger on.

This close to the wall and the tower, the land started to change, too. There were occasional hot air vents peeking up through the ground, blowing off sulfurous steam and melting the snow in rings around them. As much as Vesemir didn’t care for the implications of that, he did have to admit that the hydrothermal mineral deposits could prove to be damn useful. Already the steam around the vents was leaving off a thin film of sediment-laced condensation on the ground around the openings.

He was more alarmed to see the very small pool of hot lava bubbling up. That was, in fact, _incredibly_ alarming. 

_This is Dracula’s work,_ he reminded himself. _The man is mad as can be, but he wouldn’t bring something unstable here. Not to Geralt’s home._

He hoped.

Vesemir took a breath and kept going. There was a lot to see, and he’d barely reached the wall. It would take days to ride around all the new additions, he was sure. What was worse, he hadn’t even really reached the buildings he saw from his window. Even more worrying was that now he could see that there were plenty more buildings out back behind the keep. Much more thickly built ones, too. These were structures able to withstand a siege. 

He urged his horse off the trail and up the steep hill on his left, enough to see farther down into the valley. This land used to be empty; the combination of border, wild forests, and old magic kept it resolutely people-free for ages. Throughout the centuries, the wolf witchers had endeavoured to keep the routes into this valley a secret. That was less important now after the keep’s destruction, but it still wasn’t common knowledge how to get here. 

Now, deep in the valley, behind Kaer Morhen and off beyond their little lake, he could see buildings of dark stone crammed into every available space. Some were separate, some looked melded together, and high arches connected them at various points. 

From this distance he could see that the buildings had different styles. Some looked older, cruder in design than others. It was clear that they were added by different owners or at least built by different architects. 

There were signs of damage on some of them, too. Crumbling walls and remnants of old scaffoldings swung in the air on old chains. A few of the windows were boarded up, some outright yawned with emptiness, while others still sparkled with intact colored glass windows. 

His initial assessment of this taking days had to be amended. It would take weeks to investigate just the outside of all the buildings that he could see stretching out into the horizon. From his current position, he could also see that the wall curved around not only the old valley but all the new additions too. 

Vesemir turned his horse in a tight circle, and eyed it all. 

It wasn’t a few buildings that appeared in the forest and along the hills. It was a goddamn fortified city that made up an ominous castle all around Kaer Morhen. The witcher fortress looked like a poor cousin squatting in a dark corner compared to the enormity of the buildings all around it.

For a brief moment, Vesemir felt every single second of his long life weighing down on him. Powerful forces were moving in his world, and he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about any of it. He and the rest of his little family had been swept up, tangled, and tumbled along. Where it would all end, he couldn’t guess. 

The implications of this vast new castle around the witcher keep were many. Geralt had been injured. Hunted down, Ciri and Eskel had said as much. And now Dracula had shown his hand, firmly placing his power between Geralt’s home and the rest of the whole goddamn world. 

Worry gnawed at him for a moment, but he banished it quickly. It wasn’t useful. Instead he tried to focus on what he could do. 

For right now, that meant looking around for a short while more, and then heading back to the keep. From what he could see, it looked as if Kaer Morhen, the mountain it was built on, and all the immediately surrounding valley and lands had been carefully scooped up and placed in the middle of this vast, dark city. But Vesemir wanted to make sure that nothing additional had changed inside their keep. 

Hopefully, by the time he finished taking stock of Kaer Morhen, someone would come tell him what the hell was going on. 

With that in mind, Vesemir worked his way down the hill he was on and back towards the river. He’d already been out riding for a few hours, it was time to head back anyways. 

As he picked his way back along the trail, he took careful note of where the new features were. Each hot air vent, and especially that tiny lava pool. It didn’t seem to be growing at all, just bubbling gas from its center. 

That was when he noticed a tiny blob of black fur on one of the stones near the pool. 

He squinted. 

It was a little black cat, asleep near the edge. Curious, he urged his horse a little closer. 

The thing looked somewhat worse for wear. As he approached, he could see that its fur was matted and clipped oddly in some places. Its eyes and nose were crusted a bit, and it looked thin. It was just fur and bones. 

Vesemir paused to stare at the cat for a moment. It was possible it was a feral beast, one that had always lived in the woods, and it was taking the unexpected chance to warm up during this long winter. Unlikely, but possible. 

Maybe it would let him approach. 

He dismounted and ordered his horse to stand. The beast was well trained, and he knew that it would stay put until he got back. As he stepped forward, he worried about startling the poor cat into the lava. If it was unfamiliar with the phenomenon, as it should be in this valley, it might try to run through the liquid rock. He decided to test how it would react to his voice first. If it was familiar with humans, it would show in its response.

“Hey, there,” he called gently and crouched down, trying to make himself less overwhelming to the tiny creature.

It took a moment before the cat lifted its head and slowly blinked it’s green eyes at him. It looked very sleepy and exhausted, curled up into a tight ball.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. He wasn’t really paying attention to his words. Mostly he just wanted to make sure that it could hear his voice.

The cat just looked at him and flipped its tail once. If he could guess, he’d say it looked unimpressed. But it was a cat, so that was something of a default expression. It blinked lazily at him, and then made a little chirping sound, like it might make towards a kitten or another friendly cat.

With that positive reaction in mind, Vesemir inched closer. The cat watched his progress, but didn’t even move to get up. Finally he was in reaching distance, and he scooped the cat up into his arms, cradling it against his side. It made a _merrp!_ sound, protesting this new development, but didn’t try to struggle away.

“What’s a friendly little puss like you doing in a nasty place like this?” he asked absently, rubbing a gloved finger against its forehead. “This stuff is dangerous.”

The animal made a tiny huff and squirmed, so he resettled it, squishing it against his side a little harder. It calmed down after that and let him stuff it under his jacket. There was still some rabbit left over from yesterday's traps. He could put the cat near the fire in the kitchen and feed it some meat. A warm place to rest and some food would surely go a long way towards restoring the animal to full health.

Once settled against his shirt and no doubt feeling the warmth of his body, the cat went limp. Then he felt a vibration start up in his shirt. He could hear a tiny, rusty purr, too, and it made him smile.

Vesemir mounted his horse as smoothly as he could, and turned the beast back towards the keep. He would feed the cat first and then check the keep out to make sure that nothing actually changed on the inside. Maybe he would be able to find one of the other occupants and ask what the hell was going on.

It took him a fair amount of time to get back to the keep, though not as long as it took on the way out. As they approached the last winding portion of the Witcher Trail, right as it led into the keep, the cat in his jacket perked up to get a look.

“That’s Kaer Morhen, kitty,” Vesemir said quietly. The air was crisp and cold, and the forest trail rang with his horses slow steps. “Home to the Wolf School witchers, those few of us that are left.”

As they broke through the treeline, the full line of the broken walls and battlements came into view. The cat made a grumbling _meep_ sound, and Vesemir had to smile. It almost sounded like the little thing was disgruntled at the keep’s appearance. 

“Hush, you,” he said fondly. “I know it doesn’t look like much, but it’s home. Those holes in the wall there, see?” He pointed to the crumbling bits of stonework. “That’s leftovers from the attack that killed us. All of us. Nearly, anyways.” 

Vesemir sighed. He didn’t care to talk about the attack with the other witchers. They all had a vast mix of unhappiness, bitterness, and anger at the event. Him more than the rest. Even though Geralt, Lambert, and Eskel were full grown and off on their own Paths, Vesemir couldn’t help but still consider them somewhat in his charge. He’d protect them from what little he could, even if that was the horrors of the past.

“All the children that were learning here,” he said quietly, remembering the dark place he was in for years after the attack. The angry bitterness that drove him for so long. But time had sanded off a lot of those feelings, smoothing out the edges of memory until it no longer cut him open every time.

As they approached the walls, he paused a moment on the bridge that led into keep proper, and looked out over the dry moat. He remembered being half delirious with pain and grief as he dragged the bodies onto the bridge. He watched them fall, one by one. The teachers, the children, some as young as six. For years he could see the bloodstains on the wood of the bridge and the bones slowly whitening in the dried out moat. Now the bones were scattered, vegetation covering the old remnants, and the wooden bridge was bleached tan again by years of rain and sun.

He absently scratched the cat’s forehead, lost in thought. “All my students. All my brothers and children.” Vesemir swallowed hard. “I know you’re just a little puss, but try not to go into the moat. That’s where they rest. A reminder, to me, to all that walk over this bridge.”

Vesemir nudged his horse into moving again, and shook his head. “This is what comes of mindless hate, and this is our reward for hunting the dark things in the world.”

The cat was a negligible weight in his vest, but it felt good to have a warm, living body next to his. He could feel how skinny the poor thing was, but it was warm and offered unexpected comfort.

His melancholy introspection turned into vague grumpiness as they came up to the stable. “Dracula keeps changing things. Modifying. The keep was fine as it was.” He huffed, suddenly irritated. “He’s just being an ass, throwing his weight around so stupidly.”

The cat shifted again, and Vesemir hissed as he felt sharp little claws punch through his shirt and deep into his skin. 

“Ow,” he complained, squishing the cat to his chest and stopping its frantic movements. He kept the small animal held there as it squirmed against his hold. “Cut it out. Or I will scruff you for the whole way back.”

A hilariously disgruntled sound came from the cat. Vesemir waited it out. Once it stopped growling at him, he loosened his hold again.

He stroked its forehead again, soothing it further. “Easy there, kitty. We’re almost home. You might like it here, little one, although you’ll have competition for mouse hunting.”

They headed straight into the stable, and he dismounted in front of one of the stalls, cat still wrapped up close to him. “I’m gonna set you here while I take care of my horse. Sit tight, kitty, and afterwards you’ll get a nice bit of meat and a spot by the fire.”

It didn’t take more than a few minutes to strip the tack off his beast and secure it in its stall. Given the fact that they’d been out all day, he gave the beast a good rub down, too, and added some fresh hay to the stall and oats to the feeding bucket. 

While he worked, his mind stewed on the problem at hand. This massive city around Kaer Morhen was Dracula’s work, no doubt. Other people were bound to notice, not the least of which was the ruler of Kaedwen, King Henselt. Having a foreign city suddenly appear in the middle of his country was bound to cause some upset, and Henselt wasn’t a patient man by reputation. He also hated non-humans with a renowned passion, so that would no doubt weight in to things as well. 

With his horse taken care of, Vesemir picked up the cat once more. The little creature had sat patiently, watching him the whole time. 

“Wolf Witchers have been all but wiped out once before, and this thing, whatever Dracula did in his fit of possessiveness, will probably get the rest of us wiped out now. Geralt and Eskel are safe with Alucard, but Lambert is out there on the Path.” He sighed, shaking his head and trying not to worry over things he couldn't change. “We are going to become targets now.”

His hearing wasn’t anywhere near as sensitive as Geralt’s, his enhancements never reaching such an advanced stage, but he felt the vibration before he heard it. The steady thump of a big horse galloping towards him was offset by the vibration of his wolf medallion. Apparently, it wasn’t broken after all. 

He wasn’t surprised when Night thundered in, tail high and eyes glowing red. 

“Shit,” Vesemir cursed under his breath. Night liked killing rabbits and other furry critters around the place. He covered the cat more fully with his arm and half-turned to shield it from Night’s view.

“Night, no!” he barked, making the demon horse break suddenly, claws digging into the floor of the stable.

Night tossed her head back and forth and her ears swiveled towards Vesemir. Her confusion was obvious.

“No eating the cat,” he said sternly, holding the little furry body close to his chest. “I mean it. It’s not a snack.” 

Night neighed, stretching her nose towards him. And the cat. Her nostrils flared wide as she sniffed. Vesemir eyed the fangs poking out of her lips. Way too close for comfort.

“No,” he repeated firmly.

Night shook her head, making her black mane fly everywhere. Her claws clicked oddly on the stone floor as she sidestepped a bit.

Vesemir gave her a long, narrow eyed look, but eventually relaxed his hold on the cat. 

“Meet our new housemate, if it decides to stay with us longer than it takes for it to get better. Poor thing is just skin and bones.” That last bit was said softly, almost musingly. “Not sure how such a little one got out here. Maybe displaced when the city showed up?”

Night neighed at him, loud and long, sidestepping the other way. She was always on the move, either prancing around or jumping onto things. Now was no different, so Vesemir didn’t put much stock into her dancing around. She just seemed to be that kind of horse.

“If you’re back, are the others around now too?” he wondered aloud, knowing that Night wouldn’t really be able to give him much of an answer. “Do you need something to eat? I could bring you out something before I get the kitty here settled in.”

Night lowered her head until it hung to the very ground and shook it slowly from left to right and back again.

“...No, then. Alright.” He tapped his fingers on his arm, and furrowed his brow. “You’ll be alright here, even with the new city around, yeah?” 

A wild image raced through his head of Night running amok through this vast, demonic city. The thing was, cities generally had people living in them. A place this huge had to have inhabitants. Suddenly, Vesemir was profoundly grateful that Kaer Morhen was as fortified as it was, regardless of crumbling walls and dry moat. 

Night just _looked_ at him, and he could practically feel the disdain. 

“Ha, alright. Foolish question.” Vesemir huffed out a laugh. “We’ll be in the kitchen. Be careful wandering around.”

She followed him the whole way up to the door to the keep, and then danced in place as he went inside. 

Once in the kitchen, he dropped his cloak on a hook on the wall, and brought the tiny black kitty over to the sink. 

Quickly, he went about all the little chores needed to get the kitchen ready to make supper for them both. He started a fire in the woodstove and he refilled the kettle on top of it with water. The woodstove had a large, flat iron slab for cooking on, and it heated the kitchen oven, too. Normally, it would already be warm from the morning baking, but today it was cold and bare. 

A couple more logs got added onto the massive fire in the fireplace. Unlike the woodstove, the fire in the kitchen fireplace was never allowed to go out. It would take too much effort to do so, and leave the rooms too cold in the winter. If it also reminded Vesemir of days past where the kitchens were always ready to feed a hungry witcher, well, that was something he kept to himself. 

He readied a cup for some tea. Then he headed to the cold pantry and grabbed some frozen rabbit stored there from yesterday’s hunting. 

Most of that went in the stew pot over the fireplace, but he cut off a fair chunk and diced it into tidbits. A minute or two on the stovetop thawed it out enough to be tender and he served it up to the little kitty. 

“Dig in, friend,” he said, scratching its head. “If we had a cow, I’d offer you milk, but that’s not something we really keep around here. Although…maybe we should. I hardly ever go out on the Path any more, not in the last year, anyways. It wasn’t sensible to keep anything more than a goat or two when I’d leave for weeks at a time, but now...” 

He laughed, and shook his head. “Have I finally gotten old enough that I’m retiring? Seems ridiculous.”

The cat sniffed the meat cautiously before tentatively taking a piece. Once it had the bit in its mouth, it paused, whole body freezing in place. The tail twitched, once, and then the cat eagerly swallowed the morsel. After that, it polished out the little plate within moments, making wet little satisfied noises the whole time. 

Vesemir took that opportunity to look under the tail. Ah, a girl.

The cat stopped eating long enough to give him a side eye. 

He let go of the tail.

The cat went back to eating but her ears were still swivelled towards him distrustfully.

Vesemir held back a snicker. This little kitty had a fair bit of personality. While she ate, he looked over the rest of her and tried to decide if she’d need a bath.

“Glad you like the meat, kitty,” he said absently, while scratching around her ears. “Doesn’t look like you have fleas, which is a blessing. You look a little worse for wear, though. Perhaps we should give you a quick wash.”

The ears stayed trained on him, but she kept licking the last bit of juice off of empty plate. By the time she was done, the water in the kettle had heated enough that Vesemir could pour some in the sink for a small cat sized bath. 

He gathered up towels and soap, and then rolled up his sleeves. Then he picked up the cat and gave her a look. 

“Now. This might be odd, but we need to get you clean. So bear with me, and it’ll be over fast.”

She let him pick her up without protest, hanging limply in his grasp and looking around the room. It wasn’t until her back paws touched the water that she suddenly turned into a bite sized storm wrapped in dirty black fur. 

The next ten minutes were more challenging than most of his fights on the Path. The cat did everything it could to alternatively escape or claw his eyes out, yowling as if he was murdering her while he resolutely wetted her fur and soaped. 

By the time he pulled her out of the sink and wrapped in the waiting towels, his hands stung from all the scratches and the soapy water in the sink was tinged pink from blood. 

She stopped howling as soon as she was free of the bath with its terrifying fifteen inches of water. As Vesemir slowly rubbed her dry, she sat curled up and shivering, looking like half drowned pile of unhappiness. The wet fur meant she looked even smaller, and the bones under her skin were visible where there should be some flesh padding them. Her ears were huge on her tiny head. Vesemir couldn’t stop a chuckle at how pitiful she looked as she huddled on the towels, glaring murder at him.

He looked down at his forearms and hands. She'd scratched him to hell and back, but the wounds were all but healed now. His enhancements always ran towards self-healing. It was how he survived the massacre. 

“A little fighter, huh.” He shook his head and laughed. “You’ll fit in fine.” 

His clothes hadn’t faired quite as well as his hands. For the small amount of water that was in the sink when the bath started, most of it seemed to be deposited on him now. He washed the excess soap off of his hands and grabbed another dry towel for himself.

Furtively, he looked at the kitchen door. 

If he were on the Path, he’d ignore his soaked clothes and keep to his tasks. Here at the keep, there wasn’t really a need for that. He could strip out of his wet clothes. Maybe warm up and dry off in front of the fire. No one else was here, as far as he knew. But the succubi, or hell, even Ciri and Eskel might, maybe, come back at any time. 

After only a moment of thought, he shrugged, and started taking off his armor. He was in his home after all, he didn’t need to suffer discomfort here. Then he laughed at himself, at how spoiled he became.

“You made a mess of me, puss.”

The armor was the first to go. It was leather, so it would take a while to dry. He settled it on one of the benches in front of the kitchen fire. 

“As much as I am worried about where everyone is, I’m not unhappy that I’ll have some quiet time to dry off,” he grumbled to himself, though it was a half hearted grumble at best. “Demons everywhere, interrupting baths, sneaking into my room. It is nice to have the company, though. Maybe I’ll teach them sword work.” 

His shirt was next, soaked completely and also in possession of new holes. After it dried he would have to mend it. That, he spread on the old chair that stood in the corner. Then he looked down at his pants, completely soaked in front. 

Not thinking much of it, he worked off his boots and wet pants and spread them out on the bench next to his armor. When he came back he realized the cat was staring at him. Her green eyes were bright and focused and she was purring up a storm.

“Why are you suddenly so happy? Glad to be out of the water?” he asked, feeling the cold of the stones seep into the soles of his feet. The socks were not enough to keep him warm, but considering he was as naked as a newborn baby, except said socks, he expected to be cold anyway.

The cat was shivering.

Piled on to another bench just to the side of the fire was a heap of blankets. High quality wool, as soft as anything he’d ever felt. They started appearing in the kitchen soon after the vampires moved in and considering some of the things he saw, Vesemir was sure they were all Alucard’s. For a vampire, that boy felt the cold a lot.

He grabbed the first one off the pile and wrapped it around his shoulders. Then he looked at the shivering, wet cat and went to grab some more towels, too. 

He really was getting soft in his old age.

“Considering I’m mostly naked, remember to keep your claws to yourself,” he warned.

He wrapped the cat in the new towels and picked her up, pressing her close to his chest. Hopefully, the heat of his body would warm her up quickly. As soon as she realized what he was doing, her small body started vibrating with more heavy purrs. He smiled and rubbed her head softly as he went to sit in front of the fire. There was plenty of time to warm up while he waited for the stew to cook. Might as well make sure the cat dried out well, too.

As they sat in front of the fire, Vesemir rubbed the wetness out of the cat’s fur. Some part of him wished all problems were as easily solved as this. 

“I hope my boys are safe,” he said quietly. “Ciri, too, though that girl can get herself out of trouble if she needs. Triss and Yennefer are even better at it. Sorceresses,” he scoffed. “I’d worry about Dandelion, but few would think to bother him for his connection to Geralt. Not like us witchers.”

The rumbling purr was soothing and the fire warmed him to the bones. Like any other witcher, he had his share of scars. The heat of the fire soaked into him, easing the ache that the cold brought to all those old tears and breaks. 

“I hope Dracula and Alucard are alright, too.” The words were barely a whisper. It felt strange enough to think it, but over the last year both the vampires had grown on him. “Whatever is going on, this’ll be rough times for us all.”

\--

Night watched Vesemir and Orlaith head into the keep and sighed. 

The old witcher was nice. Very nice. He did all the scratching and the brushing and, alright, there were some…_complications_ as they worked out how hunting in the yard would go. But things were _fine_. And it was fun scaring him when she managed to get him to climb onto her back. That first time they teleported was great! She had no idea that witchers squeaked!

Now the castle was here, and Orlaith was here, too. Granted, Night didn’t actually interact with her much, but Orlaith was just below Dracula and Alucard on the pecking order. So when she called, Night had answered.

Something about a witcher named Lambert and how Night needed to go bring him here. Which…alright, transportation was what Night was good at.

Very, _very_ good.

But she’d never met this Lambert fellow! And Vesemir was no damn help. They still hadn’t completely worked out the kinks in their communication. The way he held Orlaith was more than a little surprising, too. That took some real spine. 

Night paced back and forth in the stables for a moment, trying to figure out just how to go about this. She wasn’t quite as good as a hellhound, but she had a fair sense of smell. If she could just get a whiff of this Lambert guy’s scent, she’d be able to go find him.

She looked around the stable. Then poked her head out into the courtyard. Nothing in either of these places was going to help. 

Then she looked up to the keep, and narrowed her eyes. Somewhere in there was a room where Lambert bedded down. It was probably close to where Vesemir bedded down, and Eskel. In her experience humans liked to crowd together. Where one was, more were to be found unerringly. So, if she navigated to Vesemir’s quarters, she could start her search from there.

She ran out and hopped onto the battlements, angling for a better view of the kitchen, the place with the good smells. She could see movement there and if she focused, she could hear the faint sounds of Vesemir speaking. Based on the lights that shone out of the keep at night, the actual sleeping areas were farther up.

Her extra senses told her that there were several large spaces inside that building. She just had to teleport into one and then look for the right rooms. It was tempting just to teleport into the large room next to the kitchen and start from there, but Vesemir and Orlaith were in the kitchen. Disturbing them would likely be unwise. 

So Night gathered herself up and _leapt_, jumped through a quickly made portal, and landed in a hallway one floor above and off to the side of the kitchen. Her hard claws rang on the stone and she pranced in smug satisfaction. 

This plan was going great so far!

Then something crashed and she froze. Slowly, she looked behind her only to see that her tail had caught on some kind of wooden thing that had just fallen over with a clang.

...It was probably fine. 

She tiptoed her way through the hall, the floor crunching just a little bit under her feet, and poked her nose into the first door. This room definitely smelled like Vesemir. There were hints of demons, too. Succubi and incubi. No other humans though.

It was tempting, so, _so_ tempting, to sneak in and get a good sniff of everything. Maybe it was better that she moved on, though. After all, she had a job to do. No time to dally. 

Still, she felt miffed. Why were the succubi and incubi invited in and she wasn’t? That seemed unfair.

The door opposite Vesemir’s in the hall smelled of human, but female. And magic! Wards, probably, but nothing Night couldn’t teleport through if she really wanted to. That was pretty darn interesting, but Night had a task. Lambert was definitely a witcher and male, so this wasn’t his room.

She moved farther down the hall.

The next door she didn’t even get near. It smelled overpoweringly of Dracula, Alucard, and another human. _Master’s lover._ Geralt. Any disruption there wouldn’t be looked kindly upon. 

The door directly across from Dracula’s also smelled of human female and magic. Night huffed in annoyance. How many humans stayed here? And where were they all?

She wandered farther down the hall. There was another door with human female scent. The magic was here, too, but it was well mixed with herbs and steel. 

Across from that was a door that smelled like Eskel! Night liked Eskel a fair bit. That first dream of his that she ran through was a great deal of fun. 

Surely Orlaith wouldn’t mind just a tiny detour?

Night nosed the door open, and then edged in slowly. The door frame was a tight squeeze and she had to suck in her stomach, but she made it in. Mostly. She did get stuck a little about halfway through but a good push with her hind legs fixed that problem. Something creaked but nothing fell down, so it was probably fine. 

Two steps in and she realized her error. This room smelled of Alucard and Dracula as well, though it wasn’t seeped in dark power like the other. Not as much anyways. Now that she was in it, she could sense the traces all around. Especially radiating off the bed.

Did Master have two witcher lovers?

Either way, it was time for Night to go. She spun in place, accidentally knocking over some other wood thing. When she tried to back away from it, she bumped into a different thing, this time with some glass bits on it. A couple _may_ have fallen and broke. She danced in place, head tossing and claws digging into the floor, beside herself with trying to get out. Why did humans have so many things in their quarters?

Finally, she got turned around and got back through the door. In her haste, she had to dig in a little to get through that tight squeeze again, but soon enough Night was in the hall!

She turned to look at Eskel’s somewhat damaged door and gave a huff, half annoyed, half chagrined. 

Oh right. The task. Probably time to work on that.

The next pair of doors both smelled of human male. One smelled of booze, fine clothes, wood, and parchment. The other smelled of leather, steel, and herbs. The leather and herbs thing seemed to be a witcher thing, so Night picked that room. 

She paused a moment, and looked down the hall. There were other doors. How many could have people living in them? Vesemir seemed to indicate that there weren’t any more witchers beyond the four of them. This should be the last inhabited door. 

Just in case, she wandered further down the hall for a sniff. As she suspected, these farther rooms were mostly cold and bare. Some of them smelled like a nice little snack, but she abstained. She could get a juicy rabbit or a fox outside the keep.

Thus justified in her assumptions, Night went back to what had to be Lambert’s room and shimmied her way in. The best scent would be on the bed. 

This room was just as stuffed full of little things and wooden bits. Just to be thorough, she got a good sniff of them all as she wandered around the room. Lesson learned from Eskel’s room, she was exceedingly careful, gently nudging things out of the way as she investigated.

Here, too, she could smell succubi, especially on the bed. Again, she huffed in offence. Why were succubi invited everywhere and nobody even came to mention there were things to do in the bed? She might have not taken the invitation, granted, but the fact she wasn’t invited stung. 

She tossed her head in irritation. Her mane went flying and ended up catching on something small. It fell with a loud _crash_. Night froze mid shake, and then slowly turned to look at the glass thing that now lay shattered on the floor.

_Damn_.

She looked towards the hall really quick and waited, ears perked forward. 

Nothing. Maybe no one heard. 

With a sigh of relief, she continued sniffing around the pillows. It was saturated with the scent of male and danger, with just a hint of something demonic mixed in with a strong potential for magic. She liked the scent. It was defined and sharp, different from mundane humans. This one didn’t smell like a snack. None of the witchers did. 

She paused, realizing that in itself was odd. She was used to demons not smelling like food, but humans were a new thing. At first she thought it was her master’s gift that made the humans smell non-edible, but she was starting to wonder now. The scent in this room wasn’t new. She couldn’t sense an older, different scent here at all. She could smell years passing, but the sharp tang of danger was always there. It was as if the witchers were this way before her master came along.

_Very strange_.

Eventually, she decided this was enough. She could feel the potential, the tiny streak of darkness glowing somewhere out there. All she needed was to follow that scent until she found it, and with it the witcher Lambert.

Pleased, she stomped her feet and _leaped_, leaving the confined space and landing on the stone courtyard.

One more _leap_ and she was out beyond the keep walls, following that scent.

\---

King Henselt looked out over his map of Kaedwen, his kingdom, and frowned. 

Something was amiss in the north. 

No. It was far worse than that. Something was drastically, deeply wrong, and none of his people seemed to know what the hell was going on. Not his generals, not his spies, and not even his bloody mages. 

Sometime in the last half day, a whole Gods be damned _city_ had appeared in the northern Blue Mountains, on the Kaedwen side. 

Kaedwen was a country of magic, and sorceresses and mages were plentiful. Thus, word traveled fast, especially to him. 

Local townsfolk had gone to their city guards, who’d gone to their mayors, who then in turn had sent word off to the capital. In short order, Henselt was made aware of this…this _invasion_. To think that there was a whole city hidden from him, right there under his nose, made his blood boil.

Not that he’d seen this city. He’d had to rely on word of mouth descriptions because every mage he’d tasked to scrying it had ended up unconscious with blood dripping out of their nose and ears. 

“Are all of you bloody useless?” he snarled at his advisors, throwing the half full goblet of wine he held at the nearest one. He wasn’t the young warrior that he used to be, but his aim was still damn good. What did it matter if some wine spilled on his own velvet sleeves? He was the king. He had all the clothes he could want. 

Just looking at the map made him think it might be time to switch to armor again, though. This situation was outrageous. 

“Your Majesty,” Prince Merwin began. When Henselt leveled a furious gaze on the young man, Merwin only paused a moment. He licked his lips nervously, though that was the only tell for his discomfort. Henselt always did like to keep his people a little nervous. It was good for them. “We’ve sent mages to portal to the towns that can actually see this phenomena. We have some information, and more will be forthcoming soon.”

“If they were portalling already, why haven't they portalled straight to the invading city?” he snarled.

“They did,” Sabrina Glevissig said, her tone slightly irritated. She was a sorceress, and a powerful one. Part of their little lodge, in fact, though Henselt didn’t know or care to know about the politics in that group. It was enough that she served him with all her abilities. Though he had to admit, he was more than a little wary of her sheer power. At least she was pretty to look at. “The ones who attempted are still unconscious. They’ve been drained magically, and broken in a way I have never seen before. Nothing we’ve done has been able to reach them or wake them.”

A sour frown twisted across Henselt’s face. He hated not having proper intelligence. 

“What _do_ we know?” he said finally.

“That there is a city that has appeared, easily as large as Ard Carraigh, and very well fortified. Those who have eyes on the place noted very tall, very thick walls. With towers. They encircle the whole city, and the place is locked up tight as a drum.” Sabrina smirked, and shifted a little in place. The movement brought attention to her low cut bodice and loose flowing hair. Like all sorceresses, she loved to flaunt every power she had, looks being part of that. “The place stinks of demonic energy. But so far, nothing has come out of it.”

“That we know of,” Baron Jalenth stated, his irritation obvious. Jalenth had been on Henselt’s council for more than a decade now, and though he was on the stubborn side, he could usually be shouted into acting reasonably. The man wasn’t much of a fighter, already his body had softened with age and rich foods, but his mind was quick as a whip.

“That we know of,” Sabrina agreed with a tiny sneer. 

“Send forward scouts,” Henselt ordered. “Make sure to keep a mage in each group. I want reports back on the half hour. With _details_.”

There was a small flurry of activity as someone rushed out to send out his orders. 

After a moment of silence, Sabrina spoke up again. “You realize what’s up there, don’t you?” she asked. Henselt looked at her out of the corner of his eye. Perhaps she would realize how displeased he was and get to the damn point quickly. “Kaer Morhen is in those mountains.”

Henselt frowned. “Kaer Morhen? The old witcher keep?”

“That place is supposed to be a ruin,” Merwin said, shaking his head. “There’s nothing left there but crumbling brick and the last few freaks who couldn’t die along with their fellows.”

“So we thought.” Sabrina shrugged and then winced. Every mage in his presence was red eyed and holding their heads, as if all of them had a headache. Sabrina was no exception. “And…Majesty, I’m inclined to believe that the witcher keep was all that was ever there. This demonic city isn’t something that was hidden and has now been exposed. It’s new.” A thoughtful look passed over her face.

“Why would you say that?” Henselt asked, his voice low and irritated. 

“I have not personally been to the keep, but some of the other sorceresses from the Lodge have, and their reports were clear. The fortress is ruined, destroyed decades ago by a rabid mob. It was never rebuilt.”

He ran his tongue over his teeth. “So what you’re telling me is that a whole city, a demonic city at that, has just appeared in the mountains overnight. Right on top of where the ruins of a witcher keep once was.” The words were delivered flatly, because the very idea of it was ridiculous.

“Yes.” Her answer was simple and serious. 

A cold wave of fear washed over him. Henselt was no mage, but he’d been commanding mages all of his adult life. He knew what they could reasonably do. The sheer amount of power it would take to move a whole city overnight was mind boggling. 

Henselt gritted his teeth and took a breath. “Get me that intelligence. I want to know who, or what, is responsible for this. And find me a witcher to question.”

\---

Once Ciri was out of the hospital and back in her world, she went straight to Triss’s house in Vizima. While Triss did travel a fair bit, she was on the Temerian Royal Council, acting as advisor to King Foltest. Because of that, her main residence was in the Trade Quarter of Temeria’s capital. 

Cautious of Triss’s privacy, Ciri portaled into the main sitting room. That way if Triss were in the middle of some spell work in her private quarters then Ciri wouldn't be interrupting her. 

The portal must have alerted her because as soon as Ciri stepped into the room, Triss walked down the stairs.

“How is he?” Triss said without preamble.

“Geralt is recovering. Talking easily, though he can barely move.” Ciri sighed and shook her head, flopping down on a chair. Damn she was tired. While she could portal between worlds if she had to, it took a toll on her. She felt a tad queasy and hungry like a wolf at the same time. “I left Eskel with them. From the looks of both Alucard and Dracula, they might need the extra support.”

Ciri’s last conversation with Eskel played through her mind. It was a little worrisome. Her adopted uncle was prone to brooding, stewing in his own unhappiness, and then soldiering along like everything was alright. She hoped that the four of them would figure out whatever tangled relationship thing was going on between them, and soon. Maybe being stuck in that hospital room together would help.

“Did Geralt have anything useful to say?” Triss asked, and poured a couple glasses of wine from a decanter on an end table. She handed one to Ciri, and kept the other, sitting in a nearby plush chair. For all that she was acting cool, Ciri could see the lines of exhaustion on her body as she sat, and there were dark shadows under her eyes. 

“Not much. He confirmed it was the Order of the Flaming Rose that had gone after him, and mentioned that they had a signed order from their Grandmaster proclaiming him a heretic.” Ciri sipped the wine. It was a good vintage, but light. Maybe mixed with fruit juice. Perfect for giving back a bit of energy while keeping anyone from actually getting drunk. Triss was subtle in a lot of ways. The product of so many years of playing politics.

“Siegfried?” Triss raised her eyebrows in surprise, and smoothed back a stray lock of hair. “That seems out of character. I thought he and Geralt were friends. Or at least on speaking terms.”

“That’s what Geralt said.” 

“Geralt wouldn't cast accusations lightly, not at a person with that much influence.” Triss said slowly. “He was always careful about assigning blame. Probably why he ends up with so many friends.”

“How about you and Yen? Find anything more?” 

Triss sighed, and crossed her legs. She was fidgeting. A sure sign she was more upset than she was letting on.

“Does a headache count?” she asked with another sigh. Ciri snorted.

“You seem disturbed,” Ciri said gently. “What did you find?”

“Mostly more questions. I’ve been working with the Temerian secret service, and according to them there have been hints of Nilfgaardian spies at work. Right now they’re chasing each other around like cats and mice.” She paused for a second and then winced. “There’s been an upswing of the production of the Monstrum.”

Ciri grimaced. 

_The Monstrum, or a Portrayal of Witchers_. 

That nasty piece of fiction was one of the primary reasons witchers were hunted in the first place. It was a book of mostly horrific lies mixed in with enough truth to be an excellent bit of fear mongering. Witchers never held much love from the common populace; their powers were always as unsettling as they were needed. But the book tilted the balance in the wrong way. The initial spread of that bit of propaganda spurred the mob that destroyed Kaer Morhen, and several other witcher keeps, if Ciri’s information was right. 

The sudden increase in circulation of that vileness was telling. 

“Someone is having them printed and spread,” Ciri said flatly. 

Triss nodded. “I’m working to get them off the streets, but whoever started the reproduction has ghosted. It could have been anyone.”

“Someone in Order of the Flaming Rose could have had them printed to shore up the belief that non-humans should all be killed. If it wasn’t Siegfried, it could be a rival attempting to oust him,” Ciri mused out loud.

“Do you think Geralt was targeted specifically or was it just any witcher that they would have hunted?” Triss asked, rubbing her hand over her face. 

“Geralt said the warrant for his death specified him in particular.” Now Ciri was getting a headache too.

Triss sighed and sipped her wine. “Still could be spycraft. Maybe taking advantage of split opinions in the Order. Yennefer is looking in Redania right now, seeing if this has any connection to what happened Novigrad last summer. The Order is based up there now, in Castle Barinemurg. After the uprising here years ago, their cloister in Vizima was seized and sold off. Turned into a warehouse by the crown. I’ll contact Yennefer and see if she can drop by to visit Grandmaster Siegfried.”

“What does King Foltest think about all this?” 

The King of Temeria was a just ruler, and more importantly, he disliked the Order and personally liked Geralt. After the way Geralt saved Princess Adda from her curse, Foltest happily welcomed and routinely employed Geralt in various hunts. Other witchers wandering through Temeria found themselves more likely to be looked upon kindly because of it, too.

“Foltest is furious.” Triss winced. “That portion of forest wasn’t really inhabited by his subjects, but it was a valuable resource. There are a whole host of refugees flooding the neighboring towns, little homesteads that saw Dracula’s power coming and fled. That land bordered on Brokilon Forest, and so had a very high non-human population, too, though the vast majority aren't sentient races. Now _those_ creatures are flooding the surrounding area as well. Most retreated into Brokilon proper, I’m sure, but some are making their way through Foltest’s lands. And the Order…” she shook her head. “Not only are they all dead and gone, at least in that region, but their hate mongering has scared off even a rumor of other monster hunters. So those refugees are having a hell of a time. The royal huntsman about had a stroke.”

No wonder Triss looked tired. 

Ciri sank a little farther into her chair and let her cup dangle from her hand. 

After a moment of thought, she asked, “Whoever planned this, do you think they realize the kind of…connections Geralt has?”

“You mean Dracula?”

“Yeah.” Ciri gave a half-shrug, gesturing with her cup. “I mean I doubt they know the name, but do they think there’s a definite connection between Geralt and the dark dragon from Novigrad? Or are we just grasping at straws? Geralt has pissed off a lot of people, after all. Though he has been a little better about it in the past few years,” she added in a low grumble.

Triss pursed her lips. “I think,” she said slowly, “that whoever planned this knew there was a connection, but not the extent of what force they were dealing with. Dracula’s power is mostly unknown here. We get demonics, but that level of dark energy is…very unusual. Now if the intent was to control, kill, or simply sow chaos?” she shrugged. “Too soon to tell.”

“The only good thing is that Dracula is not here,” Ciri said, shuddering at the memory of the forest he incinerated. “That’s the unexpected benefit of Alucard taking Geralt so far away, I guess.”

“I still can’t believe you two managed to stop him.” Triss shook her head and drained the rest of her cup. Then she stood up. “I need to go update Yennefer. Why don’t you take a nap? You look about ready to pass out. Once she and I are done catching up, I’ll wake you and we can figure out where to go from there.”

Since Ciri was nearly horizontal already, she just nodded and slumped a little farther down in the chair.

Triss snorted softly in amusement and rolled her eyes. Before she went upstairs again, she grabbed some sliced bread from the little kitchen area and dropped it off near Ciri’s chair. “Eat something first, then take the couch.”

It only took a moment to wolf down half the loaf. The sweet, soft apple bread tasted divine after all the hard work of portaling all over the place. After that, she didn’t even bother to take off her boots. She just sprawled on top of Triss’s couch, feet dangling off the end.

She was asleep in moments. 

If she dreamed, she had no recollection of it. There was only the deep, hard sleep of exhaustion. 

A stabbing pain through her temple woke her up long before her body was ready for it. 

“Ahhhhhh! The fuck?!” She moaned and clutched her head. By the time she blinked the blurriness out of her eyes, Ciri realized that she’d drawn her sword and was standing with the blade held ready. The room was empty though. Nothing had changed. 

Fuck, but her head hurt though. It felt like magical backlash of some kind, though what exactly it was, she had no idea. It wasn’t like she was casting any spells while asleep.

Then a different thought percolated. She wasn’t casting. But Triss was.

She sheathed her sword and staggered painfully towards the stairs, hurrying towards Triss’ work room. 

“Triss!” she called, wincing at the sound of her own voice, and pushed the heavy door open.

Triss was kneeling in the middle of the rich wood floor. The metal protection seals embedded into the wood of the floor were dark and calm around her. Her head was lowered and she was clutching it with her hands, rocking gently in place.

“Triss?”

“Shh,” Triss moaned. “Give me a moment.”

Her hands started glowing with blue-white light that promptly settled on her head. After a moment or two, the glow went away and Triss straightened up. Her eyes looked bloodshot and somewhat glassy, but she stood up easy enough and walked over to Ciri.

“Let me help first,” she said softly, pressing glowing palms to Ciri’s head.

The light felt cool and gentle. It seeped into her aching skull and eased the migraine into a dull ache somewhere in the back of her head. The pain wasn’t _gone_, but it was something that she could work through and ignore.

“Oh, thank Gods.” Ciri groaned with relief, and rubbed her temple. “Thank you. What was that? Are you alright?”

Triss shook her head very slowly, still half wincing. “I’m not sure what that was. It felt like…like a shock wave, almost.” 

She frowned a moment and got a far off look on her face, one that Ciri was intimately familiar with. Triss was trying to reach out with her senses to feel if there was anything happening nearby. 

After a moment, Triss’s frown deepened. She walked over to her work table. Once there, she rummaged around in a shelf next to it and pulled out a large scroll. With a quick snap, she laid it across the table. 

It was a large map of Temeria. Cities and roads were marked in black, but there was also a web of other colors drawn across the surface. 

“Leylines?” Ciri asked.

“Mmhmm.” Triss smoothed out the edges of the scroll and placed heavy crystals on each of the corners, weighing it down. “Each line and color shows the path of a natural channel for magical energy. I update this with regularity. There are shifts, but not generally drastic ones. It takes too much power to move those sorts of things in any meaningful way. Rather like changing the course of a river, actually. But here you can see the different types of energy.” She pointed at the different colors on the map. 

Then she grabbed a glass jar off of the shelf behind her; inside was sand. At first Ciri thought it was a single color, some kind of brown, but when she looked closer she realized that every grain was a different color. It had just homogenized when all mixed up. 

Triss poured the sand into the center of the map and spread it out. “We’re gonna do a little divination, and let the grains of sand show us where the disruption was. If there was an incident near by, the sand will show us if things have shifted.”

“Like a well drawing on underground water? It’ll suck it up from the area around it?” Ciri asked. She was trained as a sorceress, true, but there was still a fair bit that she didn’t know. Also, this was very prosaic for a sorceress. Usually they worked on high casting, pure focused power rather than the quieter, softer earth magics. 

“Maybe. Or if something was dammed up it could have burst and spread, like a flood. If someone had a magical artifact, something with a great deal of power and it was destroyed, that might have caused a shockwave like that. Although,” she winced again, “I’m a little worried about how powerful an item would have had to be to cause that.”

“Where did you learn this?” Ciri asked, suddenly insanely curious.

“Druid. And old friend of Geralt’s. Word to the wise, never waste any tool just because it looks different than what you’re used to.” 

Triss raised her hands over the map and gathered just the tiniest bit of power. It wasn’t very much. So little that Ciri was actually quite surprised. But it made sense when she thought about it. The grains of sand only needed to reflect the energy matrix of the land shown on the map. And they were very tiny grains. From the way they sparkled on the map, they looked like ground up crystal. Perfect for holding energy. 

Again, a soft pale blue glow gathered around Triss’s fingers. This time it wafted down to settle into the sand. Ciri could feel a faint vibration, a tingling as the energy settled into the grains. They bounced and rumbled across the map, moving themselves around, sorting into colors.

“There we go,” Triss said with satisfaction. “Now we’ll be able to see wher-_fuck!_”

Both Ciri and Triss jumped back from the table. The grains had moved into a pattern, yes, but it was drastically different than what was on the map. All the colored lines had been warped, twisted, and moved; threaded through them all were veins of dark purple, deep crimson, and solid black, all radiating out from the north east. 

The moment the pattern was set in place, those dark colored grains started to sizzle. Tiny little wisps of smoke rose up from the map and the paper turned black, curling and withering away from the sizzling bits of sand.

It only took a minute or two for the map to be utterly destroyed. 

Ciri stared at the ashes in horror. There was something familiar about the scent of the smoke, but she couldn’t place it.

The grains were still hot, sizzling hard enough to eat into the top layer of the wooden table Triss used to place the map. The sorceress cursed and ran across the room to a cabinet, grabbed a carafe of water and ran back, splashing the contents over the table. The water hissed and steamed where it touched the grains, but it seemed to be enough to stop the reaction.

Triss and Ciri shared a wide eyed look, then both stared back at the table. 

“That’s…that’s not possible,” Triss said flatly.

“Seems like it is.” Ciri just blinked, and blew a harsh breath out of her mouth. “You got a bigger map?”

Triss glanced at her, thinking for a second, and then turned to her shelf and dug around for a minute. 

She came back to the table with the scroll but hesitated.

“I really like this table,” she said, looking at the damage already done.

“It’s pretty much fucked already. Might as well go all in.” Ciri shrugged.

Triss sighed and rolled out the map. It was much bigger, not just in physical size but also in the land mass that was detailed on it. It showed not only all of Temeria, but most of this side of the continent as well. Ciri looked at the countries delineated with green borders, at the forest that no longer was drawn in detail on the map, and then higher up, through Redania and over to Kaedwen and the Blue Mountains. She touched her finger to the valley she knew so well, and smiled.

“Kaer Morhen,” she murmured. For all that she didn’t spend all that many years at the keep, it felt like home to her. “I hope they are okay.”

“The old keep survived so much already, I’m sure it’s fine,” Triss said, before going back to the shelves lining the walls of the room. She returned with another jar full of mixed sand.

“Let’s try again.” She motioned for Ciri to step back.

After the results of the first spell, Ciri was eager to give the table some space. She also grabbed another carafe of water. Just in case. 

Once again, Triss dumped the sand over the map and gently imbued it with magical energy. Then she, too, took a quick step back. The grains rumbled across the map, spreading out and separating into veins of different colors. 

Before the sand had even settled, a small pillar of fire burst up from the map.

Right on the valley where Kaer Morhen rested. 

It burned hot for a few seconds, and then died down immediately, leaving a hole an inch or two around. The black, red, and purple, sizzling veins spread out from that hole, eating into the map. This time they worked faster, as if the fire had chased the power out into the other grains. It couldn’t have taken longer than a minute, and the map was nothing but black, greasy ash. The grains burned so hot that their pattern had been seared right into the table, making the wood smoke and hiss. 

Ciri didn’t wait. She doused the table with water, filling the room with noxious smoke. 

“I don’t want to say it but…” Triss said hesitantly.

“Dracula.” Ciri finished for her. “I remember the corrosive feel of his power. It incinerated the whole area and everything in it without much visible effort from him. If there’s anyone who can cause this,” she waved to the destroyed table. “It’s him.”

Triss shook her head at the table. “I can’t believe that he’d hurt or destroy the keep. Geralt means too much to him. Unless---” She shot Ciri a worried look.

“He’s alive,” Ciri said. “I was just there. He’s safe and alive. Alucard is with him, Eskel is with him, and there are a formidable number of well trained human guards there with them, too. He was stable when I left.”

“So what did Dracula do, then?” Triss frowned.

“I have no idea.”

“I could try and scry, but after this…” she trailed off uncertain.

“I don’t want you to end up like that map,” Ciri said, also looking at the ruin of the table. “I can portal in somewhere close by and travel the rest of the way on foot.”

“Be careful,” Triss warned. “Whatever power is guarding that place is vicious. If it reacts this powerfully to a simple divination spell, there’s no telling how it would treat an actual intrusion.”

Ciri swallowed. She remembered how she’d been knocked unconscious the first time she and Geralt had stumbled in to Dracula’s power. This time, Geralt wouldn’t be around to save her.

“I'll portal to just outside the Blue Mountains, there’s a small village there. I'll get a horse and ride up the rest of the way. It will probably take me a few hours. Winter trails aren’t easy this time of year.”

“I’ve got extra gear here. It should fit you.” Triss moved over to another side of the room, and started digging through a heavy cedar chest. From it, she pulled out several bags and a heavy fur cloak. She held up a tightly sealed bag from the pile. “Before you go, eat these. High energy rations. Eat one, take the rest with you. You’ll need them.”

Ciri loaded herself down, all while ripping into the little bar of food. It was compressed honey, dried fruits, and nuts. Sappy sweet, and on the dry side, but Triss was right. Ciri would need every bit of energy she could get. 

In moments, she was ready to go. She shared one last worried look with Triss.

“As soon as you find anything, you contact me.” Triss handed her a small hand mirror, one Ciri knew they’d be able to spell-talk through. 

Ciri gave her a quick hug. “Thanks.” 

“Good luck.” Triss tried for an encouraging smile. 

“You too,” Ciri said softly. Then she gathered up energy around her, and portaled away. 

\---

Vanessa had been an innkeeper for over ten years now, ever since her good-for-nothing, lout of a husband got himself killed while drunk. Happiest day of her life, really.

It was mostly a quiet job. Their town, Goose Landing, was small, and their downtown only consisted of a few streets of buildings. She ran the bar at her inn, but she had a cook, a table girl, and a stable boy, too. Her own son was the cook, and the girl and boy were hired from her neighbors. 

They got some traffic from the nearby homesteads and the hunters that lived off of the mountains. Some traders would come up every few months to trade trinkets and goods from the larger cities for skins and horns or dried mountain herbs. Those were exciting days.

In spring and fall, the witchers would come through, heading in and out of Kaer Morhen. No one knew where the old fortress was, but everyone knew it was in the mountains up there somewhere. It was always a good day when a witcher stopped in. They were courteous and drank a lot, and afterwards they always tipped well. The stories they had, too! Ah, kept the locals entertained for weeks after.

That was usually the most exciting thing that happened, at least as far as visitors went. The town had its fair share of drama---all small towns did---and as the tavern owner and barkeep, she heard it all. 

It wasn’t an extravagant life, but it at least kept the business going and kept her busy. Vanessa brewed her own mead with honey harvested from her hives out back; she definitely wouldn't be able to afford to buy any. In winter time, she made her own Applejack from the late season cider, trading for apples with her mead and extra honey. On busy days, she got a couple of local kids helping serve and clean for a few coins. 

The old inn had a large common room on the ground floor, filled with long tables made of roughly hewn wood and there were three rooms upstairs she could rent if people came by. Sometimes Mary from the next village over paid her for using it for a few hours if she got a customer that didn’t want to be seen in her town. That was a nice additional income. Vanessa regretted they didn’t have any more enterprising women, it would have filled her coffers nicely if they did. She also had stables in the back, they housed her old gray and had two stalls for rent. Sometimes she got more money for stabling the horses than she got from feeding the people.

It was only mid-morning when Jack Grous, a woodsman from up the mountain way, came blundering in, pale as a damn ghost. 

“Vanessa! Vanessa! I need a drink, the strongest you have!” he bellowed. 

Since it wasn’t even damn well lunch time yet, and she’d barely even opened the front door, she raised an eyebrow at him but fetched a glass anyways. 

“What’s got you in a tizzy?” she asked, and dug around for some home brewed brandy. She waited until he put the coin on the bar before she poured it though.

“Haven’t you been outside, woman?” Jack said after downing half of the glass in one go.

“Do I look like I’ve had time to get out and do the outside chores yet? It’s not even lunch, and cold as hell.” The words were a bit harsh, but she kept her tone amused and gentle. Teasing, almost. It paid to be pleasant to whoever walked in, even if they weren’t the kindest of customers. 

“Go look. Go look now. After you pour me another drink.” He waved the empty glass at her. 

Vanessa frowned at him, more in confusion than in actual annoyance. She poured the glass, but grabbed him by the collar and dragged him outside with her. No sense in leaving him unchecked near her bar while she went to go gawk at whatever nonsense had gotten him all worked up. 

“Alright, what am I looking at here--- _oh_.”

She trailed off as she noticed the tall spires of towers off in the distance, piercing so high into the sky that they disappeared into the clouds. Below them was a black, shining wall that stretched as far as the eye could see in either direction, cutting off sight of most of the mountain range she was used to seeing her whole life. 

There were _other_ mountains there, too, steel grey and so tall that their snow capped tips disappeared in the clouds that usually topped the more familiar peaks. The structures couldn’t have been within a couple hours ride, based on what little remained of the hills she knew so well, but their sheer size made them seem closer.

“What in the gods is this?” she whispered, swallowing the sudden terror.

“I’m not sure I want to know,” Jack said, tugging away from her slack grip. “I just want a drink. I don’t want to think of how the hell am I going to go into the mountains for wood now. Or what else is there waiting.”

Vanessa thought quickly. As the innkeeper, she had a bit of clout in the town. People listened to her, and she often heard the news first thing. “Does Mayer Luthor know?” 

Luthor was sort of the default leader of the town, basically elected by popular vote to liaison with visiting government officials. He was the only one who could read and write in their town so he was the only choice, really. Vanessa herself knew her figures and enough chicken scratch to keep track of things, but real _reading_ wasn’t a thing she had time or opportunity to learn. The other folks in town were in the same boat. So it wasn’t like any of them knew what the parchment those officials waved around even meant. 

“John the baker said he saw a mage portal in a while ago. He said it was a pretty lass with hair as black as night and colorful dress. He said she went straight to Luthor’s house after gaping at the…_castle_…for a bit.” 

“Makes sense that a sorceress would want to know about this.” Vanessa nodded, feeling so much better now that she knew that somebody more learned in those matters was looking into things.

She side-eyed Jack. The man was pale as milk, and staring at the towers in the distance like they might walk up and bite him. Granted, one never knew with magic, and Vanessa herself wanted to sit and stare, too. But leaving people frightened like that was a dangerous idea. She knew if she was calm and matter of fact about the whole situation, Jack would start to calm down, too. As well as others, because no doubt her inn would be full come evening time, if only to share gossip. 

So Vanessa slapped Jack on the back and nodded towards the inside. “Let’s get warmed up. Come help me with the chairs. Daisy won’t be over to help for an hour yet, and I’m sure more folk will be coming in soon.”

He blinked at her. Then a bit of sanity and reason came back to his gaze, and he scowled. “Aww Vanessa, you putting me to work?”

“Aye, I am, but I’ll give you a small beer in thanks if you help me get set up right quick.” Vanessa knew damn well that she’d soon be too busy to breathe, even after her helpers got in for the day. 

She was more than a bit relieved by it. Being busy meant that she’d have no time to hide under her bed and panic about the terrifying castle that was now their closest neighbor.

Suddenly a thought occurred to her, one she definitely didn’t like.

“Have you heard if Mika and Palo came back from the mountains yet?” 

They were hunters, father and son. Mika had just married not long ago and his wife, a nice lass by the name of Doria, was Vanessa’s goddaughter. The girl was expecting her first child. If Mika was lost in that fortress with his father, there would be noone to put bread on the table for the girl and her soon-to-be babe.

If anything, Jack turned a bit green in the face, and turned to look at her in horror. “No,” he whispered. “Not due back ‘til later today.”

“Somebody has to see to Doria,” she decided. It wouldn’t do if the girl realized what could happen while alone. The stress of it could make her lose the child. “Can you go get one of the kids to bring her here?” She could hear some chatter out back. The farmers kids running about already. One of them should be enough to get Doria here where Vanessa could at least keep an eye on the lass.

Jack shook his head, and waved a hand dismissing the idea. “I’ll bring her myself. But I still want that small beer when I get back.” 

“You will get it,” she said. Hell, she might even make it a big one.

He took another glance at the castle, shook his head, and was off down the road.

Vanessa hurried back inside and scrambled to get the common room ready. She poked her head into her son’s room, and knocked. He was still asleep. Not unusual considering how late they kept the tavern open at night. He often closed up for her in the wee hours, and she’d get up early to open them up in the morning. But Vanessa already knew that she’d need the extra help for lunch.

“Wilhelm, wake up!”

There was an unhappy grumble from the bed.

“Wilhelm! Come help, as soon as you can get yourself together. Something’s happened.” 

She didn’t waste any more time. He’d get up soon enough now. By the time she walked back to the common room, two more of the local farmers were there, pale and ready for a beer. 

Then the _sorceress_ walked in.

She looked young, but from the stories Vanessa heard about Sorceresses, they never got old anyway. Pretty face, unblemished by work and wind. She had big, dark eyes with dark kohl around them. Vanessa could see how the farmers looked at her, stunned by the shocking brightness of her long, yellow and purple dress. Or perhaps it was how the low cut bodice exposed the tops of her smooth, perky breasts. The sorceress had a fur lined shawl, but Vanessa had no idea how that even kept her warm at all. The thing barely covered her shoulders. Everything about her seemed to be made to draw attention. 

The men all but salivated as they stared. 

Vanessa sighed in irritation. Men were so stupid. Much like farm animals, the very idea that they could dip their wick into something young and pretty was enough to make them do anything. Really, she saw more sense from the bulls on the fields than from men who saw a pretty lass.

Despite her beauty, the woman looked tired. Her eyes were red and she squinted like the mid-morning light pained her. 

“Tell me you have wine,” the sorceress said as soon as she laid eyes on Vanessa behind the bar.

“I’m afraid I’ve only mead, beer, applejack, and brandy, my lady.” Vanessa made sure to sound truly apologetic, though the idea of wine was a bit laughable. Did it look like they had vast vineyards around their village? Or that anyone did in Kaedwen? The whole damn country was too cold for grapes, and everyone knew it. Still, it paid to be nice to people who could summon fire.

The sorceress grimaced, but took a stool at the bar anyways. “Mead, then.”

Vanessa made sure to find her best glass she could before she poured the mead. She wondered if the sorceress would notice if Vanessa hiked up the price a bit, and if it was even worth the risk.

Before she could worry about it, another couple of farmers wandered in, quickly followed by John the baker. He had with him a large tray of hot buns and sticky honey rolls. He raised an eyebrow at her and she smirked, but waved him in. He knew damn well she wouldn’t have lunch ready to sell yet. By bringing in his food, they’d both sell more.

Things picked up as more townsfolk trickled in to share gossip and drink their worries down. Vanessa could hear Wilhelm in the kitchen, chopping root vegetables for the stew. 

They still had meat; winter served them well in the regard that they could store the meat longer without salting or smoking it. Vanessa bought most of Palo’s haul two weeks back. 

That made her frown. If Palo and Mika didn’t come back, who would get them meat? All the local farmers grew either wheat, rye, or flax, with several small orchards mixed in. There were no breeders, just the few chickens, goats, and an occasional sheep. None of that would be enough to supply her inn for any length of time. 

Then the second mage came in, a older man dressed in outlandish furs and shining baubles. He sat right next to the sorceress and waved a finger for a drink, indicating he wanted the same as the sorceress. The din in the common room grew noticeably quieter as everyone tried to get an earful of whatever the magic users might say. From the sour look on the mage’s face, this fact hadn’t escaped him.

“Well?” the sorceress said impatiently.

The mage just shook his head. “Nothing. Not a thing,” he bitched. She huffed at him and took a drink. “The other groups are still out. We’ll know more soon.”

Vanessa held back her frown. She very much did not like how it sounded as if the magic users were just as stumped about whatever was going on as the townsfolk were.

“How’s m’lord taking it?” the sorceress asked.

“How do you _think_?” The mage drained his cup, then waved for a refill. 

“You think that’s the same thing that destroyed the Temerian forest?” the sorceress asked, lifting her cup but not drinking from it.

“I don’t know.” The mage shook his head. “That land was incinerated and this is clearly a creation. But the darkness and demonic stench seem to fit.”

Vanessa shuddered. _Darkness and demonic stench_. She wondered if life now was going to be like what her great-grandmother talked about. Monsters kidnapping people in the middle of the night, strange powers demanding tribute and keeping people under a terrifying yoke. 

They had it peaceful here now. A drowner happened from time to time, or some other beastie, but the fact the witchers came by every so often was enough to take care of that business. A bit of coin, a message outside the tavern and the critter would be dead sooner or later. 

She thought of the huge, black walls in the distance.

One witcher didn’t seem like nearly enough to fight _that_.

“I don’t even want to think how a caster capable of something like this can exist.” The sorceress shook her head, and her black, shining hair rustled over the white fur of her shawl. “Whoever that is must be monstrous.”

“Don’t forget the dragon,” the mage chimed in.

“While a dragon may incinerate a forest, even a dark dragon no one has ever seen before, it makes no sense for it to suddenly create a fortress like that. And mountains. The Mayor told me that the larger dark grey mountains? They weren’t here yesterday.”

“I don't know what’s worse,” the mage said with a groan. “This whole thing being a dragon’s creation or there being two separate dark powers we that have no knowledge of. I wonder if the witchers know anything.”

The sorceress snorted. “If the _good people_ hadn’t slaughtered most of them, it would be damn sight easier finding one to question.”

“You are right.” The mage sighed. “There’s not many of them left. And rumor has it that the Wolf school in particular is practically nonexistent. Just a handful of them scattered in the world.”

“Makes you think, doesn't it?” The sorceress finally took a drink from her glass, grimacing again. “When there were more of them, we never had a problem like this happen. No witchers and we suddenly get dragons and gods know what else crawling out of the cracks.”

The mage was the one to snort derisively this time.

“Don’t tell me you bought into their whole motto of killing monsters. They were just mercenaries that did some monster hunting on the side. They were too dangerous as fighters to leave them be. You heard the stories of what one witcher can do. Imagine a whole regiment of them. They could change the course of a war. It’s better that they’re all but gone.”

Vanessa hid a frown, turning her back to grab a bar rag. She wasn't the only one shifting to hide dissatisfaction, either. The witchers were well liked in Goose Landing, and hearing anyone talk bad about them was a hard pill to swallow. They all knew better than to show their displeasure, though. Magic users were both powerful and capricious. 

Their cups were empty by now, she noticed. It was time to play the good host. She threw away the rag she was using to clean the bar and grabbed a jug full of mead. When Vanessa came over to replenish their drinks again, the mage’s eyes lighted on her. “You. Bar wench.”

Vanessa held back a groan. She knew damn well that she was built like a horse a couple years past its prime. Strong, sturdy, and healthy to boot, but no competition for any court lady. But every once in a while, some traveler thought she sold more than beer. Slapping a mage’s wandering fingers might be trickier than a peddler, though. Hopefully that wasn’t what he wanted.

She smiled at him, the impersonal stretch of the lips that any salesperson might give to a passing by client. “Yes, My Lord?”

“Are there any witchers around? Or any that have come through recently?” he asked, eyes narrowed.

“Not recently. ‘Tis winter, late winter anyways. They won’t come through ‘til spring. Weeks from now at the earliest.”

Granted, the last year has been extremely odd, with a witcher wandering through every few weeks. But that could be disregarded as an anomaly, and thus didn’t need to be mentioned. Or at least, she didn’t feel the need to volunteer it. It was a relief to be able to answer the man honestly without fear of endangering the witchers or herself.

The mage sighed, but the sorceress looked unsurprised.

“Worth a try,” the mage said with a sigh, and took a drink. 

“Would have been nice to have a witcher just walk into our hands like that,” the sorceress said.

Vanessa resolved to make sure to warn any witcher who might come by. For once, she hoped that they wouldn’t. The mages were right about one thing; there were very few witchers left in the world. No sense in making that number dwindle further.

While the magic users had been chatting, more and more townsfolk had filtered in, including Jack and Doria. 

Doria was waddling along, pale and crying, as Jack did his best to lead her in. Vanessa couldn’t blame the girl. If her man was dead, then she would be facing starvation and destitution. Her parents were long dead and while Vanessa wanted to help, she wasn’t sure she could afford two more mouths to feed.

Behind them came in someone Vanessa was _not_ expecting. 

It was Ciri, the witcher girl. Wrapped in a heavy winter cloak, but unmistakable. A child of surprise, she’d lived up with the witchers in the keep for years, training with them. They’d wander through with her in tow from time to time when she was just a lass. The village saw less of her now that she was older, but Vanessa still considered her a local. 

The moment Ciri saw the magic users at the bar, she froze.

Thinking quickly, Vanessa headed over to Jack and Doria, and cried out, “There, there, my dear. Come into the kitchen and rest a bit.”

She moved to stand behind Doria, standing right in the line of sight between Ciri and the mages. Then she herded them all, Ciri included, into the back room.

Ciri was smart, she kept her hood up and turned her back to the mages giving them only her sturdy yet unremarkable cloak to see.

As soon as they got safely into the kitchen, Vanessa pulled up a stool for Doria and nodded to her son. “Wilhelm, watch the bar for me.”

He looked between them all, clearly seeing the worry on everyone’s faces. Then he nodded, tossed a kitchen towel over his shoulder, and headed out to the bar.

“Thank you,” Ciri said softly, taking her hood off and setting down at the table there. Jack followed suit, flanking Doria’s other side.

Vanessa tut-tutted at her, shaking her head. She absently rubbed Doria’s back in comforting circles. “It’s no trouble, girly. You’re a townie.” 

There was a pause as Vanessa chose her words. Finally she asked, “Do you know what’s going on?”

Ciri pursed her lips and looked between them, her forehead crinkled in worry. “Somewhat. I can't tell you how things will turn out, though.”

“Are we in danger? Should we be packing up and heading south?” Vanessa asked. It was drastic, but a practical question given all that talk about dragons and dark powers.

“You are alright as long as the Wolf witchers are alive.”

Vanessa raised her eyebrows in surprise. That statement implied some interesting things. Either that the wolf witchers controlled whatever dark power had taken up residence, or they were all that stood between it and everyone else.

“The witchers are keeping that…place...in check?” Jack asked in a loud whisper.

Ciri hesitated and nodded eventually. “Yes, they are. So it’s as much in your interest as it’s in theirs that no outsiders learn anything of them.”

“I wouldn’t want to chase off my best customers,” Vanessa said with a wry smirk, albeit a bit of a forced one.

“My Mika,” Doria said, scrubbing tears from her eyes. “He was up there. Is he…? Will he…?”

It was easy to see that Ciri hurt for Doria, the way her brows were tight and worried and how her lips went white as she thought. In the end she had to shrug. “I don’t know. If he survived the castle showing up, and the witchers found him, he still has a chance of coming home.”

Doria nodded and crumpled into tears again, hiding her face in Vanessa’s shoulder. That was grim news, but honestly more hopeful than Vanessa expected. Any hope was a relief.

“Has anything come out?” Ciri asked.

“Not that anyone has seen,” Vanessa said, shaking her head. “Even those pretty mages out there are stumped.”

Ciri snorted. “They would be.” Then she hummed in thought.

“They’re looking for you,” Vanessa said quietly. When Ciri raised an eyebrow at her, she continued. “Those court mages. I overheard them. They’re looking for witchers to question.” 

It was left unsaid the things they might ask, or the ways they might persuade the witchers to talk.

Ciri grew a touch paler, but nodded. “Thank you for telling me.” She glanced towards the common room. “I need a horse to get closer to the walls,” she said, looking at the people around the table. “I have coin to pay for it and I will return it, I promise.”

A lot of people didn't realize how important horses were in towns like this. They didn't have a breeder right here and if a horse died, it took months to travel to a bigger town and buy another one, even if they had the money for it. The witchers were usually fair with them and if they asked for a horse that they expected might not return, they always paid extra.

Vanessa sighed.

“You can take my gray.” She extended her hand for the promised coin and Ciri dug into her purse. “I need it back before the end of the week though.” It was a risk, sure. If she didn’t get the horse back, she wouldn't be able to get the supplies she needed to pick up from the monthly market two towns over. Still, the castle’s looming presence in the distance and the coin in Ciri’s hand convinced her to try.

“Come on.” Vanessa nodded towards the door leading to the storage room. “There’s a ramp out back. We had it made to easier unload the cart with supplies. You seem young and fit enough, you can probably jump down from there.”

\---


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes from Q: Ok, so this chapter is coming just a touch early... Mostly because I'm having surgery on Friday. It should be fine. I'm nervous as hell, but it's low risk, with a quick recovery. But, uh, I don't think I'm gonna be up to getting a chapter ready the day after that, so you guys get it early. Part of my "OH SHIT MUST PREPARE" list of chores. 
> 
> The posting schedule should not be disrupted at all. So that's good.

Lambert was having a very bad night. Evening, day, what the fuck ever. It was bad.

First, his harpy contract turned out much harder than he expected. Instead of three skinny harpies he found a giant, fucking Calaeno harpy, a Dream Stealer. He won that fight, of course he did. He was damn good at what he did, but already the hunt proved harder than expected. 

Then, of course he only got paid for normal harpies. The mayor of Ban Gleann was unwilling to pay more for what he saw as just another harpie anyway. That was particularly annoying, since it wasn’t like Ban Gleann was a small town. Granted, it was no capital city, but it was big enough to have its own fortress. Since the beastie was dead anyway, the mayor didn’t much care about pissing Lambert off.

Like any good witcher, Lambert promptly went to the nearest tavern to spend some of his hard earned coin on booze and whores. The whole way he had a feeling there were eyes on him, but it wasn’t unusual for people to stare at witchers so he put it out of his mind. The booze was surprisingly good, considering, and the food even better. Once he sated one kind of hunger, he retired to the upper level where the brothel was located to sate another.

That did not go as well as the drinking. 

The madame offered him a drugged up wine. It was something a lot of brothels did. Give the patrons a free drink before they even start to play with the girls and most of them will fall asleep in the middle of it if not before anything happened. It meant less work for the whores and easy income for the madame. He just smirked as he downed the wine. He was a witcher and the madam really should have done her research first. Such a paltry amount of drugs wouldn’t even make an impression on his ability to metabolize it.

The sex was passably good, nowhere close to as expert as what the beautiful succubi at Kaer Morhen could deliver, though. The golden haired Eyra and even more beautiful Iga were capable of things to a man no mortal woman could imagine. _And_ they could keep up with a witcher on potions. He knew. He’d tested it, and that was a beautiful night. 

Still, this brothel’s girls were good enough that he had the itch scratched, and a soft bed with a soft companion to sleep for the night.

It was only thanks to his light sleep and enhanced senses that he escaped the trap set for him. Somewhere in the middle of the night, when he was sleeping, satisfied, half drunk, and cuddling up to a nicely full bosom, he heard the tell-tale thump of armored boots. There was a different cadence to a soldier’s walk than to any other’s. It was jarring enough in this place that it woke Lambert right up. By the time the door to his room burst open in a shower of splinters, he was already rolling off the bed. 

All he had on him was his pants that he pulled up after he finished with the whore, and his witcher medallion. His swords were on the floor, just in reach of his hand as he rolled off the bed, flipping the frame as he went to cause more confusion. The woman shouted as she was dumped onto the floor, but Lambert felt like she should have been more grateful than that. Being on the floor saved her from being cleaved in half by the over-eager mercenary. Or city guard. It was the bed that took the damage.

There were three men in the room already with more crowding in the hall. Now that he listened for it, he could hear even more of a commotion outside the building. 

Damn, he couldn’t fight them all. Not if he didn't want the garrison to show up.

“Alive, you ass!” one of them bellowed at the axeman, cuffing him on the head. “You can’t question a corpse!”

Fuck, that sounded bad. Lambert would have almost preferred a straight up kill order over an interrogation. He had no desire to be tortured for information he probably didn't even have.

Lambert kicked the bed at the men. The heavy wood frame crushed them to the wall and made them tumble all over each other as they fought to lift the weight. He only had a moment to decide what to do and, sadly, fighting them was a tactically bad choice. There was too much backup waiting.

In addition to his swords, he grabbed the closest bit of gear he could reach---whatever belt he grabbed, he’d figure it out later, but something was better than nothing---and jumped through the glass window without even bothering to open it first. The breaking glass scratched the hell out of his arms and shoulders as he rolled on the tiled roof. 

It took a moment for him to feel the biting cold. Snow and glass shards stung at his bare feet as he rolled to up to standing and straight into a dead run. He jumped from the tavern roof to the next building over, hissing as the uneven tiles and ice cut into the soles of his feet.

“He’s on the roofs!” came a shout from below. The sound of heavy boots pounding along the street below echoed up to Lambert.

He put the discomfort out of his mind and ran faster. It was easy to clear the space between the tightly packed buildings. As he ran along the edge of the city square, he searched for a roof that would give him a path out. 

It took a bit of a leap, but he found what he was looking for. This one was lower and he had to roll again, to deal with his momentum as he landed on the iced-over roof. Something tore at his back, pushing deep under his skin, and his feet were starting to go numb from the cold. It didn’t matter. He rolled to his feet and kept on over the roofs of the closely built houses. 

He had his swords. The harness bumped familiarly against his back as he ran. He was clutching the strap of gear that he’d managed to grab, but he still didn't have the time to look at what it was. All of his focus was on getting out of town before the mob got to him.

Lambert spared a thought to be grateful that Ban Gleann hadn’t gotten around to building more than a wooden wall around the outer ring of the city. They also weren’t as worried about things getting out as they were about things getting in. That meant that the roofs of several buildings got fairly close to the top of that wall. He angled his approach to get as close as he could to it.

It would be a hard jump, and a worse landing, but better than getting caught. It also had the benefit of forcing his pursuers to go around to a gate. From the increasingly frantic shouts below and behind him, the armed guards had realized this, too.

He had just enough time before the jump to think, _This is bullshit._

The short distance over the top of the wall wasn’t the issue. It was the two story drop after that had Lambert cussing to himself. On the bright side, there was some snow to cushion his fall. On the downside, he wasn’t wearing any damn boots. 

He landed with a hard _thud_, and something wooden shattered to splinters under him. A roll took most of the sting out of the fall, but that wooden-whatever surely left fucking bruises. 

Other than his feet, the cold hadn’t yet started to be a problem, but that was only a matter of time. He needed clothes, supplies, and his horse to get away from town. 

The stables weren't far from where he landed. He chose the cheaper ones, and those coincidentally were the ones farthest away from the city gates. At the time, he’d been thinking only of saving a bit of coin. It worked in his favor now, and he was relieved to know that he’d have some avenue of escape. The farther away his horse was from the inner city, the less likely it was that the stable was already occupied by hostile mercs, and the more likely that he’d be able to ride off without guards stopping him.

Quiet as he could be, Lambert slipped through the sparse buildings. He could hear some commotion from behind the wall, but it faded fast as he ghosted through the outskirts of the town. It only took a few minutes for him to get to the stables.

Once he got in sight of the building, he approached cautiously. That whorehouse had been a damn trap, and one he wasn’t interested in repeating. He crept around to the back of the stable, and listened. It was dark there; only the front doors had a light. 

It turned out that his caution was well placed. 

After a few moments of a miserably cold wait, he saw an armed man amble out of the shadows, obviously patrolling the back. That meant it was just as likely that others were watching the front. Lambert hunkered down behind the stack of straw bales and waited for the man to come closer. His teeth were starting to chatter and he clenched them tightly, to make sure the sound wouldn't give him away.

_Fucking winter_, Lambert cursed absently in his head.

When the man was close enough, Lambert launched out of his hiding spot. He slapped one hand over the man’s mouth to keep him quiet, and bore them both to the ground. His other hand closed around the man’s throat, crushing his trachea, while Lambert’s knees kept the man’s arms pinned to his sides as he choked.

The man died after only a moment or two, gurgling quietly and thrashing weakly in Lambert’s hold. As soon as his heart stopped, Lambert jumped off of him, cursing the dull ache of numbness in his feet.

He grabbed the dead man by his jacket, and pulled him behind the stack of straw bales piled next to the wall. Then he started unbuckling the dead man’s boots. They weren't anywhere close to what he was used, quality wise, but it was all he had right now. He pulled them off, grimacing at the stink. Did the man never goddamn wash his feet? 

Despite the stench, he stuck his own feet into the blessedly warm boots. They were too big for him but anything was better than risking a frostbite trying to travel barefoot during winter. Better too big than too small, too. 

Next, he struggled with the jacket. By now his fingers were numb enough that even simple latches were a problem. He cursed quietly as a seam gave under his pull. Struggling with a dead body wasn’t the easiest thing to do and undressing them was even harder. Especially while trying to be quiet.

Finally, he was able to pull the damn thing off, wincing again at the stink of old sweat and unwashed body. Damn, but this guy was rank. Lambert gritted his teeth and went to work pulling off the man's shirt too. He could deal with the stink as long as he didn’t freeze. He’d certainly smelled worse, and survival was the most important issue at hand.

After a few long, harrowing minutes, he finally had the clothes off the dead man and onto his own back. His open wounds, the multitude of scratches he acquired while running, stuck unpleasantly to the rough cloth. They’d long since stopped bleeding, though. Even without a Swallow potion, his normal mutations would make short work of light wounds.

Lambert settled his swords on over the jacket and took a look at what else he’d managed to grab on his way out of the whorehouse. It was one of his knife harnesses. 

He sighed. While the extra weapons would be useful, he’d hoped for maybe his potions or even his money pouch. It would take time to replace all the potions and his collection of ingredients, time and much effort, and having no coin to ease his way out of here was an unpleasant prospect, too.

Mindful of his time constraints, he slunk into the back of the stable, careful to keep to the shadows. There wasn’t a back door, so he had to shimmy up the wall and slip in through a high window. While that was doable, it was also a pain in the ass, and Lambert swore to himself the whole way.

For a regular human, the stable was probably pitch dark, but Lambert’s mutated eyes saw through the gloom easily. So much so that he caught sight of a few figures huddled in the open stalls near where his beast dozed. He blessed his knee-jerk reaction to do everything as quietly as possible.

“You think they got the freak?” one of the men hidden in the neighboring stall whispered to his companion.

“Shut your yap and watch out,” the other man snapped back.

Lambert pulled the only knife he had and crawled low on the ground until he was right on the other side of the stall door. He made sure the men outside the front of the stable were as far away as they ever got in their patrolling, and then vaulted the stall in one leap. 

He landed on top of the man closest to the door, his knees locked around the man’s head. With a sharp twist of his body he snapped the man’s neck. In the same motion, he let the knife fly from his hand, straight into the other man’s trachea. All three of them fell to the ground with a quiet thump, and Lambert was then kneeling on two corpses. Neither of them made a sound as they died. 

The moment he stood up, he realized just how shitty the jacket was. He’d gotten a whole new set of splinters down his side, _through the jacket’s quilted exterior_, from the roughly hewn wood of the stall door. He hadn’t really noticed that he’d slid down the wooden planks while he was riding the dead body to the floor. Hopefully, it didn’t make much sound. 

It was going to be such a bother, pulling all those splinters out by himself. Especially after they’d all healed over. Maybe he’d be lucky and his healing skin would force the wood out.

Yeah, right.

On the bright side, he had access to his horse now. He snuck around the partition, startling his beast as he popped up in its stall. It took some shushing before the horse settled down enough for him to be able to saddle it. Thankfully, the people after him hadn't taken his tack. It took a little longer than he expected to have everything strapped on; the horse was strangely agitated under his hands. It probably smelled the blood, though Lambert thought he’d trained his horse out of its skittishness at that.

He opened the stall door quietly and looked out, making sure nobody was watching. All he had to do was get the horse into the wide corridor leading out of the stable, mount up, and then force his way through the men guarding the door. If he got enough speed going, he knew the men wouldn't even try stopping him. The risk of being trampled was too high. Lambert wouldn’t feel an ounce of regret about running them down, either.

The way was clear, so he grabbed the lead and led his horse out into the corridor.

It was the uneven sound of the horse’s gait that caught his attention.

He looked back, his chest filled with dread and burning hot anger, and watched as his horse limped behind him. It took everything he had not to swear out loud. Lambert closed his eyes and took a breath. Then he went back to the beast and picked its hooves up, one by one.

They fucking took off two of the horseshoes. Not just one. _Two_. Both on the left side. The horse was limping on both the front and hind legs. 

Lambert stood there for a moment, fuming uselessly. He was so damn close to escaping, so fucking close to getting out of here. Now it turned out that the whole excursion into the stable was a useless waste of time. There were, of course, no other horses there that he could take instead.

He was gritting his teeth so hard that he thought he might break a tooth as he tried to think of what to do. The angry part of him wanted to go out there and kill every single man waiting for him, just cut them open and let his rage loose. But the colder, rational part of him urged him to climb out a high window and ghost into the woods that surrounded the town and attempt escape on foot. It would be slow, but he could survive in the wilderness. He had swords and a knife. He would be alright.

As sweet as revenge sounded, Lambert liked the idea of living to see tomorrow more.

Abandoning any thought of a very justified murder spree, Lambert went back towards the back of the stable and jumped up to grab hold of a window frame, a different one than where he entered at. Better to get the window closest to the forest and farthest away from the front door. 

Squeezing through aggravated some of his scrapes. Blood was starting to flow again, thick and sticky on his back. At least the jacket would soak it up, though a dog would be keen to notice it. Lambert hoped they wouldn’t bring dogs to find him. He landed hard on the ground below, but thankfully it didn’t sound as if anyone noticed. 

Cursing the brothel, the town, and even his goddamn fucking horse that he actually _liked_, Lambert started running. The snow wasn’t deep, but there was enough to show tracks. He’d have to find a way to hide them eventually, because he would be damn easy to track. For now he needed distance.

The too-big boots rubbed at his heels painfully, and the jacket not only stunk to high heaven, but it was also too small, riding up in the back and exposing just a sliver of skin. The only thing that actually fit was his sword harness and his pants.

Two hours into his run, and the sky was starting to lighten in the east. His feet were bleeding and he felt like a kid running The Killer again. Only back then, there were more boys stumbling alongside him. Now there was just him and the forest. 

As he traveled, the sparse underbrush closer to the town was replaced by older, more unruly growth. There were thick brambles everywhere, with thorns long enough to cut through his leather pants to bite down into the skin beneath.

He slowed down for a bit to think through his situation. It would have been nice to to take a rest, but Lambert knew that wasn’t really an option at the moment. Anyone so focused on capturing him that they drugged him, ambushed him, _and_ laid a trap where his horse was stabled wouldn’t stop looking for him anytime soon. Especially with the snow being so good at showing his trail.

Which meant the first order of business would be to make it harder for them to track him. 

A lot of that issue could be solved by being more careful about moving through the underbrush. Now that he had a good head start, he could afford to take a little more time. The next thing he needed to do was keep his eyes peeled for a little stream. He could use the water to fuck with his tracks; maybe he’d leave some obvious boot marks headed in one direction, but backtrack through the stream and come out at another spot.

Still, the very idea of getting his feet wet in this cold was not a nice one. He would have to find a way to dry out somewhere, and possibly need to ditch the boots too.

It would be so much better if he could find a wolf den or other predator. The scent of them would at least fuck with any dogs that may be following him. But he didn't have the time to track. All he could do was keep his eyes peeled for anything that could help him. The thick undergrowth meant that horses would have as much trouble going through as he did and the pursuit would be slow.

He grabbed a fallen branch and began using it to help move through the undergrowth; partially to save himself some skin, but also to muddle the trail further. As he moved, he watched for thick, lower branches. Any distance he could cover running along the treetops would only screw with his pursuers more.

All in all, it was exhausting work. Setting false trails, climbing from limb to limb, backtracking, and leaving as little evidence of his passing as possible slowed him down a lot. Hopefully, it would help in the long run. He briefly wished for a potion or three.

Just when he thought he might be in the clear, things went to shit again. 

It was late morning, pushing onto midday, and he hadn’t heard even a trace of sound behind him. He was so focused on potential pursuit, he didn’t notice the fucking _bear_ until he was practically on top of it. None of them should be goddamn awake yet, but this one looked lean and hungry, as pissed off about its early awakening from hibernation as Lambert was to see it.

There was no space to run. He had to block the first swipe with his arm. The claws cut into his forearm, ripping the cheap armored jacket to shreds and leaving savage gashes in the flesh under it. 

He lunged into the bear, just barely managing to fit under it. The lunge carried him right under its reach and back out again, behind and away from it. He slashed at its belly as he was moving. His sword was able to cut through its thick fur, but didn’t penetrate more than a couple inches deep. Just enough to make it even more angry.

The animal roared and Lambert had to push hard to get out of its range. People always underestimated the speed that a bear was capable of. It was only thanks to his enhancements that Lambert was fast enough to jump out of the way of the next charge. He rolled to the side, counting on the fact he was able to turn faster than the bear to give him an advantage. 

His wounded shoulder hit a brambly patch; the thorns ripping into his savaged arm and made him shout in equal parts anger and pain. 

The noise made the bear hesitate. Lambert took the opportunity and launched himself at the bear again, going at him from the side. This time he managed a deep cut from the underside of one arm all the way to the middle of its chest before he had to roll away again. 

The bear reared up on its back legs, roaring in pain. One of its front paws hung limp at its side and blood poured down, red and hot on the snow-scattered ground. Lambert knew what was coming next, and he had absolutely no desire to be trampled and mauled.

He switched holds on his sword and threw it as hard as he could, cursing at the pain the move caused him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the voice of Vesemir was bitching at him about throwing away a perfectly good weapon, but fuck it. He had two swords. He could pick the first one up after he killed this damn thing. 

The blade sank hilt deep into the animal’s chest but it didn’t stop the charge. It fell onto Lambert with its whole weight, knocking them both to the ground. At the last second, Lambert managed to get off a Quen shield, stopping the beast from immediately biting his head off. Its large teeth snapped right in his face, gnawing away at the magic shield. 

Lambert managed to get his legs between the enraged animal and himself and heaved. At the same time, he pulled his second sword and wedged the hilt of it right up into the bear’s large maw. The quillions scraped over its gums and teeth leaving great bloody furrows in the bear’s mouth. He pressed his back into the ground and kicked up again with both feet, heaving the bear completely off of him and gaining another set of cuts to his leg for his trouble.

“Die, you fucker,” he snarled. He bounded back up to standing and lunged in again, pressing his advantage while the bear was still down. He hacked in with his second blade, all but cutting the damn thing’s head off.

Lambert stood there for a moment and panted. Pain from every new injury slowly started to seep in as he watched blood soak the churned up snow. He needed to retrieve his sword and patch up his cuts. He couldn’t afford to leave more of a trail than he already was. He also needed to get the hell out of there. Even if he wasn’t being hunted by an unknown group of guards or mercs, the local wolves would surely smell the fresh kill and come looking for a taste.

It was impossible to know how long he would be forced to run; it was at least a few days' walk to the nearest town, even if he was going in the right direction. He’d need food and he probably wouldn't have the time to forage for anything along the way. 

He looked over the bear’s body. Nothing would beat bear meat for fat and energy value, even a lean bear fresh from winter sleep like this one.

He knelt down in the snow and dragged his steel sword out of the carcass, making sure to cut through as much of the chest area as he could. Quickly, he wiped both of his swords on a clean bit of fur and sheathed them, before reaching for his knife. The dagger he’d managed to grab on his way out wasn’t as helpful as a good skinning knife would have been, but it would serve. 

Every other slice of meat that he cut off, he ate. Cooked meat would have been better, but raw would do, too. It had been a long fucking time since his last meal, and the rich meat tasted fantastic. He didn’t have anything to pack the meat into, so he decided to just cinch the strips with the belt and carry them that way. Not like he cared about keeping any of this gear clean. 

Afterwards, he used snow to clean up as much as he could. None of his wounds were deep enough to cripple him, and so they were ignorable; most had stopped bleeding already. It didn't change the fact he was cold, tired, in pain, and beyond pissed off. He’d lost most of his gear, lost his horse, lost his goddamn _clothes_, and was now being hunted like a damn animal.

What was even more frustrating was that after all of his hard work covering his trail, this little fight with a fucking bear would probably draw attention right back to him. Not to mention all the fresh blood smell, both on the ground and on his body. 

He rubbed a hand through his short cropped hair and sighed. 

This was all the rest he could afford to take. With a shake of his head, he was off again, moving as fast as he could while still leaving as little trail as possible.

It was barely past midday when he heard the first faint howls of dogs in the distance. They’d found the bear remains and had picked up his scent. 

_Fucking fuck._

He moved as fast as he dared and cursed as he saw there weren’t any good branches for traveling above ground. 

Over the next hour, the distant howls seemed to inch closer. A stream would have been a blessing, if only so he could get a drink. The little bit of snow he’d eaten back at the bear carcass had long since worn off, and Lambert’s mouth was painfully dry. 

If that weren’t bad enough, his wolf medallion had started to gently vibrate. Because this day couldn’t get any better. Whatever the medallion had sensed was still at least a little distance away, though, so maybe there was still time to avoid it.

Lambert switched directions, veering sharply to the left. Still, his medallion shivered against his skin. Which meant whatever it was sensing had started to follow him, too. 

There were times Lambert wondered if he’d been cursed at birth. 

It was the rhythmic thump-thump of a horse in canter that he heard first. He couldn’t see far, not in this undergrowth, but he could all but feel the thrum of those hooves hitting the frozen ground. The sound of the dogs was still far enough away that he didn’t think the rider was with them, though.

He veered to the side and put on a burst of speed, keeping an ear out for the rider. The horse sped up too, but only enough to keep pace with him. It didn’t even seem like it was trying to catch up. 

Then his medallion started vibrating harder.

Lambert slowed down to a stop, pulled out his silver sword, and waited for the rider to catch up to him. Better to face this new threat while he still had the energy to fight than wait until he was stupid with exhaustion.

The rider slowed down too, keeping just at the edge of his senses and not coming closer.

The fuck was going on, were they _playing_ with him?

At this rate, the damn dogs were gonna catch up. He growled in frustration, and debated about just holding his ground. Running might be just what the rider wanted him to do. 

“You gonna come out and fight, or are you gonna join the dogs and just chase me all day?” he called out. Not too loud, no sense in giving the people with the dogs more help, but loud enough he hoped the unearthly rider would hear.

He swung his sword in a long arc through the air to loosen his wrist, and shifted his leading foot forward. He was as ready to fight as he was going to get.

A loud neigh was his answer. Then there was a crash and the creak of branches being crushed under a large body as a horse trotted out from the thick brush and into view. 

The beast was black as night, with a hide so glossy that it couldn’t have been a wild living creature. The head was down, and its mane was long and shiny, falling in waves over its wide forehead and strong, arched neck. Tall and powerfully built, it had feathering on its legs the same color as its hide. It approached slowly, almost dancing sideways towards Lambert, showing off its powerful yet streamlined body. The thing was the size of a knight’s mount, or maybe a draft horse, but significantly more elegant.

It only raised its head and tossed it when it was close enough Lambert could really see the _huge fucking fangs_ poking out of its black lips and the _burning, red_ eyes.

“What in seven hells are you,” Lambert muttered in shock. He raised his sword higher and switching to double grip.

The beast pranced in place, arched its neck in an attractive way, and neighed in what Lambert was sure was laughter. The thing was laughing at him.

He couldn’t quite figure out why it wasn’t attacking him. He knew damn well why he wasn’t attacking it. Trying to chase after a horse, even a demon horse, with a sword in hand to stab it would be an exercise in frustration. Better to wait for it to engage first.

“You know, if those guys catch up to us they will kill us both,” he said, shifting to keep the demon horse in sight. The problem with fighting something as big as a horse was actually reaching the important bits.

The demon horse turned its head so it could look at him directly with one eye. From the way its head was tilted, Lambert got the distinct impression that it was trying to say, _bitch, please_. The contempt in that gaze was a heavy thing.

He sighed. 

Alright, fighting an intelligent demon horse would be even worse than fighting a demon horse with only beast level intelligence. 

It was still pretty fucking odd that it hadn't attacked yet, though.

The horse sighed, literally _sighed_, in what Lambert guessed was exasperation, its sides heaving with air leaving it in a long, loud exhale. Then it looked towards the distant sounds of the hounds baying, and then it looked back to him. Next, it turned to look at its own back. After that it stared at Lambert again. 

_Expectantly_.

“What?”

At this point, Lambert was beyond fucking confused.

It danced a little closer, sidling up to him. Almost like it was presenting its back for a ride.

“Oh, you have got to be fucking joking,” he said flatly.

It huffed again and neighed at him, inadvertently exposing the finger long fangs again. Pewter black fangs, now that he got a good look at them. Like shining dark metal.

Lambert just stared, jaw a little slack. Was this how this beastie got its meals? Find a person who couldn’t refuse the ride, and then drag them off into a lake somewhere?

“No way,” he said flatly, and then turned to start walking again. He kept a wary eye on the demon horse, but decided moving was more important than fighting this beast.

The damn thing just followed him, though, and before Lambert could even so much as flinch, it was right there. Walking next to him. It reached out with its fanged muzzle, maybe to nudge him, maybe to take a bite. 

Lambert nearly jumped out of his skin. He dashed to the side, sword at the ready again, and stared at the demon horse. 

She, because he could see that it was a she now, neighed at him and shook her head, her mane flying around as she stomped her feet in frustration. Lambert noticed that instead of normal hoofprints, her feet left three-pronged prints more befitting a predator than a herbivore. The damn thing had _claws_.

Another howl sounded in the distance. The dogs sounded really damn close this time. Fuck, he really needed to move. No way in hell was he trusting the demon horse, though.

He turned away from the sound of the dogs and started running. The horse just trotted alongside him, snorting in frustration. 

_Yeah, the feeling is mutual_, he thought sourly. 

It was too little, too late, though. The first dog broke through the underbrush and launched itself towards Lambert, snarling viciously. 

Before he could do more than spin to meet it, the damn demon horse wove in between them.

The way she pounced on the dog was far more reminiscent of a cat than anything with hooves. She stomped with her front claws, missing with one, but the other crushed the dog’s spine with a sickening _crunch_. The dog had just enough time to whine, brief and high, before she bit into the back of its neck. Those wickedly sharp teeth cut right through the flesh, nearly severing the head. She tossed her head and bit again, lightning fast, and sunk her teeth into its skull. Then she pulled, ripping the damn thing in two.

Lambert gaped at her, shocked. 

Well, _fuck_. 

Two more dogs made it through the underbrush, and they died just as quickly as the first. From the sounds of the shouts in the distance, the human part of the pursuit was still a short ways off. Probably just following the howls.

The demon horse looked at him and pranced proudly, neck arched up and tail flagged. Her velvety muzzle was soaked in blood, and she licked at the gore on her lips with a long, black tongue. Every bit of her body language radiated smug pride. 

“Oh, fuck no,” Lambert said flatly, and strode away in a fast walk. Watching the demon mare effortlessly dismember a small pack of dogs did not make him more inclined to get on her back.

There was a loud huff behind him and a stomp. Then she was up next to him again, this time with part of a dog in her mouth. She perked her ears towards him and nudged the carcass into his arm.

Like she was trying to give it to him. As a present or something.

He stopped to stare at her, and she looked at him hopefully, red eyes liquid and beseeching.

“If I give you some bear meat, will you go away?” he asked finally, totally at a loss of what else to do. 

She dropped her head and sighed, deep and long, ears pointed backwards in annoyance. 

Then, quick as a snake she nipped at him. He jumped away just in time to avoid her fangs.

“Will you stop that?!” he growled, watching her warily as she again looked from him to her back.

She neighed at him, a short, irritated sound.

“No,” he said stubbornly, shifting his grip on the silver blade.

There was a flash of blue-white light nearby, startling them both. The mare rose up and her clawed front feet lashed out in surprise towards the flash of light. 

Lambert lowered his sword as soon as he raised it, recognizing the lithe figure emerging from the light.

“Ciri!” He couldn’t help but be happy at the sight of her. She could take him out of this damn forest.

“Lambert,” she said with obvious worry. Her green eyes flickered over his injuries. “You alright?”

“Yeah.” He nodded and sheathed his sword.

“Hi, Night.” Ciri turned to the demon horse. “Were you taking care of Lambert for us?”

The demon horse neighed again and snaked her head out to nip at Lambert. He jumped away by reflex.

“Fucking stop that!” He glared at her, then turned to Ciri. “Night? A mare named Night? Really?”

Ciri had the oddest expression on her face, part fondness, part exasperation, and part resignation.

“She’s Dracula’s mount.”

Lambert thought back to how quickly and viciously she dealt with the hounds. She certainly had her master’s disposition. Still, why send a horse?

“That…makes no sense at all. Why does he even have a horse? Can’t he just…appear where he wants?” Lambert complained. Night huffed so hard that her snot splattered his shirt. “Okay, a ride would have been helpful but it’s not like I’d be able to cross Kaedwen on a horse like this and not make a sensation out of myself.”

Ciri just shrugged. “Eskel said that Night carried him and Dracula from Temeria to Kaer Morhen in a couple of hours.”

Night gave him another sideways look, head and ears tilted smugly.

Just then, shouting rose up behind them, far, far too close. 

“Shit,” Lambert grimaced. “We need to leave.”

“Fuck, you too?” Ciri gave him another look up and down, the worried wrinkle on her forehead growing more pronounced. She held out her hand to him, clearly ready to portal them both out.

Before Lambert could grab on, Night shoved herself between them, huffing in irritation. She shook her head madly, making her mane toss this way and that.

“Night we need to leave, I can teleport all of us---” Ciri didn't get to finish her words as Night tried to nip at her hand. Ciri jumped away from the irritable horse and hid her hand behind her back.

Night looked at Lambert, then at her back. Next she looked at Ciri and…tilted her head to an odd angle, ears flattening sideways.

They all stared at each other in silence for a moment as the sounds of shouting got closer. From all the swearing, Lambert guessed they found the dog bodies. Another few seconds was all they had.

“Night, can you take us to Kaer Morhen?” Ciri asked.

‘Why are you asking her? You can take us,” Lamber said, looking Ciri over. “Right?”

Night just huffed loudly and rolled her eyes. Again, she turned sideways, and tossed her head towards her back. She stomped a foot for good measure, too, clearly done with this whole song and dance.

“Get on,” Ciri said, grabbing Night’s mane and hoisting herself up onto Night’s back. “Explanation later.”

Lambert grabbed Ciri’s offered arm and pulled himself up behind her. Just as he settled on Night’s back, armed men burst through the brush, shouting and brandishing swords.

He could feel Night tense up under him; all that powerful muscle hardening and shifting to prepare for a jump. Just for a second, he saw red glowing lines curve all along her neck and muzzle, forming fantastic shapes. Then she _leaped_.

Every sense he had took a spin as the world turned on its head. Before he had a chance to react, or even yell, Night was landing on a familiar stone courtyard, her claws clicking against the old stones.

“What the---” he shook his head, trying to clear it from the strange sensation of the teleport. He could see Ciri doing the same, but the girl was also talking softly.

“Wow,” she said. “That was amazing.” She patted Night’s neck. “I didn't even feel you pull power at all. And the teleport, so smooth for how sudden it was.” She kept petting Night in appreciation as the demon horse danced under them, preening with her head high and tail flagged.

And then Lambert _looked up_.

\---

Alucard blinked and rubbed his face. He’d forgotten to take out his contacts. His eyes ached and stung, but they looked too inhuman not to cover them up. It was critical that he appear as ordinary as possible for the humans. 

He sighed and carefully took the little lenses out. John had delivered a small jar of contact fluid to him the day before, and Alucard took a second to fish it out of his suit jacket. He dropped the contacts in the little vat of liquid, closed it up tight, and put it back into his pocket. It was a relief to be able to take them out. No one would interrupt them here in Geralt’s room, other than Matt and John. It didn’t matter if Matt and John saw his natural coloring. They already knew.

Alucard sighed quietly and went back to staring at the papers in front of him.

The quarterly financial reports and the market assessment reports were boring. It was far more work than usual to keep his attention on the figures in front of him rather than on the man sleeping in the hospital bed. 

Geralt was waking up regularly, but his energy flagged just as soon, causing him to nod right back off. In the last day and a half, Alucard was forced to watch bits and pieces of all the Alucard the Vampire remakes that were done over the years, as well as the reactions those shows caused in the witchers. The television series from the sixties was a particular hit, making the witchers laugh so hard Matt had to stop the episodes every fifteen minutes or Geralt would have probably burst a stitch or ten. It was like sharing room with a pack of hyenas, really. 

Thankfully, none of the older movies were as embarrassing as the newest one. Probably because none of them showed him fucking two women quite so graphically. Alucard rubbed his face as he thought about it. Of course, that was the scene that greeted him as he came back from any meeting he had during the day.

John converted the adjoining rooms into ad hoc conference rooms. It was efficient, and allowed Alucard to take care of business while not straying far from Geralt, but it was tiring. He didn't have any time to rest or relax. Couldn’t even train to relieve the stress. 

Every time Geralt winced at some pain or other, every time he checked his movements halfway through, wincing, or whenever a nurse came in to check on the staples and various incisions on his body, Alucard felt a tight knot of tension just twist that much harder in his belly. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Geralt on that operating table, his body cut open like a specimen in a scientist’s lab with impersonal doctors pulling things out of him. It disturbed him in ways that very few things did.

Eskel was a mostly quiet companion. He dutifully entertained Geralt when the other witcher was awake, but tried to keep unobtrusive when Geralt was asleep. The forced confinement wasn’t doing him any favors, either. Just a while ago, Eskel had spent three hours doing push ups and sit ups while Geralt slept. Granted, the witchers all trained quite a bit when they weren’t out hunting, but usually it was more varied than just simple repetitive exercise. 

It made Alucard wonder how much of that was restless energy and how much was something else. Ever since Alucard had tasted him, sucked the barest few drops of blood from his already wounded neck, something had changed. For both of them, maybe. 

The memory of that sweet, hot life in his mouth, on his tongue, whole and vibrant, made Alucard shiver with more than one kind of hunger. It was true that sex wasn’t as important to him as _connection_ was. In that way, Alucard thought he and Eskel were the same. But sex was still something they both enjoyed, and feeling the pulse of Eskel’s life under his teeth was incredibly alluring. It actually reminded him of when he breathed power into Eskel before they escaped from Steingard’s dungeon. 

But up until now, Eskel had made clear his disinterest in sex with any of them. More than clear, actually. So Alucard hadn’t even really considered it. Not until he tasted the sweet comfort that Eskel’s blood had offered. Dracula being so near, smelling of want so strongly, was just another thing that broke through Alucard’s composure. 

It was what Dracula did best, after all. He nagged and nudged, radiated so much want, so much hunger, that it was impossible not to react. Alucard blushed at the memory of how hot the tasting of Eskel’s blood made him. How eager to touch and be touched. Even now, he couldn't believe that he’d had sex so obviously close to Eskel and Ciri. Just a room over, with only a very thin door between them.

Geralt watching him with Dracula was a different thing; they were lovers, too. But to think he’d sucked his Father down, just a few feet away from Eskel…he could still feel the tips of his ears burning whenever he thought of it. 

But that was how he reacted near Dracula. It was as if his body realized that Dracula was ready and willing to give it all the things Alucard denied it for centuries. Care, touch, nourishment, pleasure. Dracula was the first one that Alucard fed on willingly and that was so tightly woven with the sexual tension between them that Alucard wasn’t capable of separating it anymore. For him, it seemed, feeding would be a sexual experience whether anything else happened or not.

His thoughts kept circling back to what he tasted in Eskel’s blood. That was the truly amazing part of the whole experience. Alucard could _taste_ just how much Eskel wanted it to happen. The easy way he gave into both of them, how he let Dracula bite him again. It was there in the blood Dracula passed to Alucard through the kiss, too. How willing Eskel was, how much he _cared_. 

It shook Alucard to the core. Tempted him, too. He wanted to experience that again, and he couldn’t stop thinking about what Geralt might taste like as well. Alucard wondered if he would be able to taste the love in Geralt’s blood the same way it flowed in Dracula’s veins. 

But whatever had happened during that embrace had shaken Eskel as well. Ciri obviously had said something while Alucard and Dracula had retreated into the bathroom, something upsetting, and now Eskel seemed to be reconsidering his stance on sex with men. 

Much to Alucard’s surprise, he found that he wouldn’t mind it, and he didn’t think either Dracula or Geralt would mind either. To be honest, Dracula would probably be thrilled. Every time Dracula finished with a particularly close cuddle session with Eskel, either Alucard or Geralt usually found themselves fucked within an inch of their lives the moment they were alone again. 

Sometimes Alucard wondered if Dracula even knew how to separate affection from sex, or maybe it was the demon in him that made the connection. Dracula was always hungry and something in Eskel seemed to sate at least one of his hungers. Still, Alucard had no misconceptions. If given half a chance, he was sure his Father would be all over Eskel to mark him as his in more carnal ways.

...As if the huge mark of ownership on Eskel’s chest wasn’t clear enough.

Alucard sighed and lowered his head, trying to pretend he didn’t feel the stirring in his belly at that mental image, and at the thought of having Eskel skin to skin. The quick glances and thoughtful looks when Eskel thought Alucard couldn’t see weren’t helping. Eskel was clearly mulling things through in his head and Alucard had no idea what conclusion he might arrive at. It was a little strange to find himself wishing that Eskel would decide the carnal solution was the best one.

A gentle touch to the braid on his shoulder brought him out of his musing. Alucard glanced up sharply, his cheeks just a touch warm, to see Eskel standing there looking hesitant. 

This was different, too. Eskel never touched them first, not when he wasn’t completely stoned on breathing in power, anyways. But he’d pulled Alucard into a hug the other night, and now here he was again. Reaching out. 

The poor man looked like he was about to bolt, though. Alucard shoved aside his earlier thoughts and let a little bit of a smile quirk his lips. Just because Alucard wasn’t expecting the touch didn’t mean that it was unwelcome. And there was no way Eskel could have known was Alucard was just thinking about. 

“You’ve been staring at the papers for hours now,” Eskel said quietly. His warm hand rested more firmly on Alucard’s neck. “I think you should take a break.”

Eskel tugged at Alucard’s tightly woven braid and Alucard realized that his scalp was aching, too. His hair was naturally so unruly and messy that the only way to make the braid look nice and clean was to make it exceptionally tight. Conveniently, that was also the best way to keep his slightly pointed ears out of sight, too, tucked under the tightly bound hair. It was uncomfortable after a few hours though. After a day like today, the skin on his head felt hot and achy from it.

After a few more gentle pulls the lower tie on Alucard’s braid came out. Just the relief from that alone was enough to make him sigh. Then Eskel stepped closer. With careful fingers, he picked apart the braid, easing out each woven lock until the whole unruly mess was free. Then he cupped his hand around the base of Alucard’s skull and dragged it up, fingers pointing up, fluffing the strands of hair and massaging the scalp at the same time. 

After being bound so tightly for so long, that movement felt like bliss. Alucard couldn’t hold back a tiny groan of pleasure. His eyes fluttered and he sagged a little into Eskel’s hand.

Eskel hesitated. His hand froze and Alucard could even hear him stop breathing. He froze too, afraid to move and scare Eskel off. 

After a long moment, Eskel moved again. He shifted to stand closer, moving behind Alucard and putting both hands on Alucard’s head. He pushed his fingers through Alucard’s hair and really dug in, massaging hard circles into the aching skin and bringing back circulation. The shock of it was strong enough that Alucard moaned out loud. One of his hands flailed back to grab hold of Eskel’s leg because what Eskel was doing felt _so good_.

Eskel didn’t stop this time, even if the leg under Alucard’s hand felt tense and hard. His fingers dragged over Alucard’s tired scalp, pressing the hair follicles into a different position than they’d been forced into for so long. Each touch sent another series of amazing sparks down Alucard’s spine. 

It felt fantastic. Alucard’s mouth fell open a little and he was absolutely blind to anything in front of him. He didn't even know if his eyes were open or not; all he could do was ride out the sensation. He’d never felt anything like this. It wasn’t anything like the feelings when he brushed his hair out. It was sheer bliss, tingled with the random sparks of pain when hair forced into one direction relaxed again. 

His head felt hot as blood rushed to the skin that Eskel was massaging. The tingling heat spread down his neck and spine with every pass. Eskel continued, growing bolder. He shifted some of Alucard’s hair forward, over Alucard’s face, and continued to work the sides of his head. There, he really pressed in, kneading the abused skin, back and forth, rubbing gentle circles after each repetition. Alucard was all but gone by then, ready to move, stay, or do whatever Eskel said as long as the bliss continued.

The gentle massage halted for a moment, as Eskel drew one hand out of Alucard’s hair. A small noise of complaint made its way out of Alucard’s mouth, and he could hear the small huff of amusement behind him.

“I’m just gonna set your papers aside, alright?” Eskel said quietly.

Sure enough, at some point in the last few minutes Alucard had closed his eyes and slackened his grip. He hadn’t even noticed that his reports were about to spill out onto the rest of the couch.

With one hand still buried in Alucard’s hair, Eskel helped him pick up the various pages. Then he took the whole stack and set it behind them on the floor. 

There was another moment of hesitation, and then Eskel gently nudged him to the side. It took a very long moment for Alucard to realize that Eskel was trying to make room to sit behind him. 

Alucard just slid down to the floor, let his head rest on the couch seat, and waited for Eskel to get behind him and _continue_.

There was another little huff of amusement, and then Eskel sat down on the couch behind him with his legs framing Alucard’s body. Heat radiated out of him. Against Alucard’s shoulders and sides, where Eskel’s legs framed him. Behind him, too, where the center of his body felt hot, even where they weren’t touching. Then that wonderful bliss started again as Eskel dragged his fingers along Alucard’s sore scalp. Another small moan of pleasure forced its way out of Alucard, and he sagged into Eskel’s hold. 

With the new position, Eskel dipped down to Alucard’s neck as well, rubbing circles into the base of his skull and along his spine. Each firm touch eased some of the strain there. His hands were so warm on Alucard’s cool skin that they nearly burned. The heat soaked in and helped soothe the muscles even more. Then he dragged his fingers up again, filling his hands with thick locks of hair. At the very apex of that drag, he paused, gripping Alucard’s hair slowly, but tightly, and very gently pulled. 

Alucard shuddered hard enough Eskel had to feel it. The pleasure of that pull radiated down through his body, making his eyes roll back a little, and eliciting another quiet moan. 

But Eskel didn’t hold the pull for long. He just worked his way back down Alucard’s scalp and neck, rubbing and lightly scratching as he went. Then Eskel worked his hands up and did it again, gently fisting his hands in Alucard’s hair and pulling.

If it was Dracula or Geralt doing this to him, Alucard would have fully expected to be flattened to the ground and fucked any second now. Considering how good he felt, he would have absolutely no problem with that. But Eskel wasn’t a lover and Alucard regretted that in this moment fiercely. He didn’t know how to deal with pleasure outside of sex, not really. He never let himself have any before he reconciled with his Father. After they did, well, Dracula was a very sensual creature. So was Geralt. It was very common for any kind of touching to devolve into sex.

“I like this a lot,” Eskel said quietly. “When Dracula runs his hands through my hair. When you do.” He swept his fingers up the sides of Alucard’s skull and gently scratched down. By now he was holding all the weight of Alucard’s head in his hands, because there was no way Alucard would have been able to hold himself up alone. 

Alucard tried to blink some sense into himself and licked his lips, scrambling to find words. All he wanted to do was keep moaning at the treatment.

“I will remember,” he managed finally, his voice hoarse and wrecked.

Another minute went by before Eskel answered. “It’s not something I let anyone else do. And it…sets me at ease, I guess. I’d hoped it might help you, too.” There was just a touch of a question on the end of that statement. 

“This is fantastic,” Alucard said wholeheartedly, wrapping one hand around Eskel’s ankle. “You have to teach my Father to do it. Exactly like this.” Alucard was very carefully not moving anything above his shoulders. He wasn't sure he could if he wanted to. His neck felt like it didn’t have a single muscle there.

A tiny bit of tension went out of Eskel’s legs, and Alucard could hear him take a deep breath. Despite the fact that they’d been cuddling close for months now, it was still astonishing how bashful Eskel was about much of this. Although in this case he was taking more control of the situation. Instigating, even. Perhaps that had something to do with the hesitance. 

From what Alucard heard the succubi say, Eskel wasn’t shy with them. Didn’t hesitate to take what he wanted, and left the girls with a really good impression. Both witchers did actually, though Lambert was the wilder one in the bedroom, apparently. Alucard learned a lot more about the witchers' bedroom habits than he really wanted to know. For Lambert at least. He didn't mind the knowledge about what Eskel liked or how he treated the succubi he slept with.

Eskel rolled Alucard’s head to the side, resting its full weight on one of his hands. Then he used the other to massage the muscles of the newly exposed part of Alucard’s neck, rubbing up behind his ear, and then very gently caressing the pointed tip there. That little touch felt both electric and sedating. All Alucard wanted to do was melt a little further into Eskel’s hands. Those wonderful fingers trailed back down, easing strain as they went and replacing it with bone deep pleasure. 

Eskel shifted Alucard’s head, tilting it to the other side, and repeated the whole process.

Alucard was, quite possibly, never getting up from this floor again. He was just going to stay here. Forever.

“Geralt is doing better,” Eskel said quietly. “He is awake more often and for longer periods of time. His appetite is good, too. I think the doctors will remove the last of the staples from him soon.”

“Yes,” Alucard agreed, eyes closed. “I already told John to start the preparations to move us to the tower. Maybe we can do it tomorrow if nothing unexpected happens.”

He could vaguely feel Eskel nod behind him. That was far less interesting or important as the fact that he’d started that gentle pulling on Alucard’s scalp again. Each tug made Alucard want to shudder and groan, but he found he didn’t even have the muscle power for that. 

With one hand still supporting Alucard’s head, Eskel ran his fingers all the way through Alucard’s hair. Smoothing it. Pulling it out of the way to settle over Eskel’s knee. Then he slid forward and down, squeezing himself in between the couch and Alucard’s body, so that Alucard was cradled in his arms. 

Eskel pulled Alucard in against him and Alucard went bonelessly, letting his face nestle in the crook of Eskel’s neck. He could smell the witcher’s scent strongly there, familiar and comforting, with the undercurrent of burning embers that was his Father’s signature scent. He liked it, how closely entwined they were. Eskel already felt like family, like a part of this little group Alucard allowed himself to have.

“Maybe Geralt will be well enough that I can breathe some power into him?” Alucard asked, not feeling all that sure about this course of action. 

He’d only done it once, and that was with his Father coaching. He wasn't sure he could do it again by himself. Dracula had a talent, a unique way of using his vampiric powers on instinct. Alucard wasn’t built that way. He needed to understand what he was doing and how it worked before he could do it properly. Dracula seemed like an instinctive caster and that meant he wasn’t always that good at explaining things. 

“I hate to see him so weak,” Alucard said quietly.

Eskel hummed, considering it. “If it were Dracula’s power, I’d definitely say no. It’s too harsh. Yours was…” A little shiver ran through Eskel’s body.

Alucard pressed his nose to Eskel’s neck.

“Yes? How was it?” he asked against Eskel’s neck. He tried not to remember how it felt to suck the blood off of it.

“So very good,” Eskel replied, voice low and rougher than usual. “Softer. Gentler. Just as overwhelming, but in a different way than Dracula’s.” He shivered again, even though his body was furnace hot against Alucard. The way they were so tightly wrapped together, Alucard could feel the interest growing in Eskel’s body, could smell it mixed in with the other scents that wrapped around them. 

When Alucard had breathed power into Eskel that first and last time, it was to heal him. To keep him from suffering. The pleasurable side effects were ignored.

Apparently not forgotten, though. 

“You’ve felt how Dracula’s power tastes,” Eskel said finally. “It’s like a brutal fuck. As painful as it is pleasurable. Yours is like sweet lovemaking.” He turned his head to the side, glancing away, and Alucard could feel the heat of the blush radiating off of his face. “It’s pleasure drawn out, the kind that fills you up until nothing else exists. But there’s no urgency to it.”

“What if I can’t do it again?” Alucard mused, breathing in Eskel’s embarrassed scent with the hints of interest threaded through. “I’m not as good at this as my Father is.”

That got him a little snort of amusement. “Dracula makes everything look easy.” Eskel paused, and then asked, “Are you truly worried that it might go wrong? Has that happened to your powers in the past?”

“I never used them on anybody,” Alucard shrugged. “I never fed on humans. Never had lovers I would want to share power with.” He sighed. “In a lot of ways, this is all very new to me.”

Eskel rubbed his cheek along Alucard’s head, and tightened his hold for a moment, crushing Alucard close. Alucard sighed happily, rubbing his nose into Eskel’s neck again. If he moved close enough, he could just feel the edge of the scar on Eskel’s throat across his lips. 

“If you need to practice, you could on me,” Eskel said quietly, sounding a little unsure, but not unwilling.

“Really?” Alucard whispered. “Even if I wasn’t very good at it?” Alucard remembered his first try and how he ended up kissing Eskel instead of sharing his power.

“Yeah. I wouldn’t mind.” There was a hint of a smile in Eskel’s voice now. “But we’d have to try when Dracula is around. To drink from me after. Otherwise---” He licked his lips and swallowed. “Otherwise I’d be strung out until the extra power is taken out of me.”

_Through feeding or sex_, was what he wouldn’t say. 

Geralt tended to process the excess power better than Eskel, able to come down from the high of it on his own. On the other hand, whenever Geralt came to them, there was always sex. Alucard remembered only one instance of Dracula feeding power into Geralt without fucking right after, and it was when Geralt was wounded. Still, Dracula had much better control over how much power he was transferring and a better grasp of the consequences. There was also the fact that Geralt’s pact with Dracula had changed him physically, though so far those changes had been slow to manifest and extremely subtle. Geralt also had taken Dracula’s power _a lot_, further changing how his body processed it. 

With all the variables in play, there was no telling how Geralt would process Alucard’s power. Especially not while he was still so badly wounded, and with Alucard’s inexperience on top of that. Practice beforehand would be extremely helpful.

Alucard wasn’t sure if he would ever feed on a human, though he was now considering it. And Eskel was in the same boat with sex, unsure if he was willing with a male partner, leaving them at an impasse. 

As disappointing as it was, Alucard had to nod in agreement. The last thing he wanted to do was leave Eskel in an untenable situation. 

He tried not to think of Eskel swallowing down his power and crying out under him with the joy of it.

“What am I?” Geralt asked hoarsely from his bed. “Chopped liver?”

“You sure look like it,” Eskel snarked back. To Alucard’s surprise, when he eased up to standing, he lifted up Alucard with him, supporting his weight until he got his feet under him. 

“Geralt,” Alucard said, going towards his once more awake lover. “Eskel gave me a head massage.” He couldn’t help the sappy smile that stretched across his face. “It was amazing.” He reached the bed finally and bent down to give Geralt a chaste kiss. “Eskel has amazing hands.”

Geralt sighed up into the kiss, arching into it the tiniest bit. 

“Why is Eskel getting so much action and I get none?” he grumped when Alucard pulled up from the kiss. 

“Because we’re trying not to kill you,” Eskel grumbled next to them, flopping quietly into a chair near the bed. “If you want, I’ll give you a head rub, too. Or maybe Alucard should do it.”

Both Alucard and Geralt turned to look at him, eyebrows raised. 

“Head rub?” Geralt asked with amusement.

It took Eskel a moment, but then he turned bright red. “No, arggh, that’s not what I---aww.” He rubbed a hand over his face and then just left it there. “I hate you. It was totally innocent!” Eskel said pointing at Alucard. “Right?” 

Alucard looked at Eskel. Then at his hands. He remembered the sheer bliss of that touch and how nice Eskel smelled with the faint thread of arousal in his scent. 

“...Yes,” he said after a moment of thought. 

Geralt looked back and forth between them, his eyes narrowed. He looked more curious than upset, though, so Alucard counted that as a win.

“So innocent he had to actually think about it?” Geralt raised an eyebrow towards Eskel.

If anything, Eskel only turned a brighter red. He studied his hands, and hunched his shoulder just a bit. It really was incredibly easy to get him flustered. 

“It feels nice. He looked stressed,” Eskel said quietly. “I forgot about how you both have a hair fetish.”

“I do not have a fetish,” Geralt defended.

Alucard stayed silent. He damn well knew he had a certain weakness for his hair being played with. He especially loved it when Dracula or Geralt got a fistful of it when they were taking him and used it to keep him in place.

He shifted, trying not to show how the memory affected him. It didn’t help him much because Geralt turned his head towards him, nostrils flaring wide as he took in a deep breath.

Before Geralt could comment on Alucard’s scent, Eskel turned to give Geralt a flat look and said, “Really? You’re gonna deny it? After all the stories I’ve heard? How often have I listened through you monologuing about those long, pretty silver locks? How nice they feel on your hands and skin? Eh?” 

Now it was Alucard who could feel warmth in the tips of his ears.

“You talked about me?” Alucard asked, feeling oddly charmed.

Geralt looked a little abashed. “Only to Eskel and Dracula. And all nice things!”

“It’s true,” Eskel said wryly. “All very nice things.”

Alucard put his hand near Geralt’s on the bed, just brushing their fingers together. He wanted to touch, but wasn’t sure he should when Geralt was in such a public place and busy with discussion. Publicly displaying his affection wasn’t something he was used to doing. It was easier with his Father. Dracula just took what he wanted and made it look easy. Natural. Alucard was different. Touch mattered to him in ways he couldn't easily explain. He always felt unsure about just expecting it and even worse about taking it without permission or invitation.

The moment their fingers touched, Geralt wrapped his hand around Alucard’s. It wasn’t a tight grip, and the weakness there made a spike of anxiety rear up inside of him. But there was more strength there now than there was yesterday, and there was less strain on Geralt’s face.

Eskel’s eyes flickered between them. Then he stood up. “You two take some time to be together. I’ll guard the door.”

With that, Eskel took himself out of the room, quietly shutting the door behind him.

Geralt blinked and stared at the shut door. “Huh.”

“I miss you,” Alucard said.

Several emotions flickered across Geralt’s face, but in the end he just looked tired and a little sad. “And I, you.” He raised a hand to gently brush Alucard’s cheek. “I miss touching you, smelling you around me. I know why you act human here, how you want to keep this separate. But it drives me crazy to see you across the room and be unable to say or do anything.”

Alucard could feel warmth filling his chest, and a hunger growing inside of him. He wasn’t used to having an appetite, for anything really, and this gnawing need was a new thing for him. Dracula woke it up with his touch and his passion, and Geralt stoked it higher with his easy desire and even easier affection.

Alucard _wanted_ and slowly, laboriously, he was learning that his need could be fulfilled, whatever it was.

He shed his jacket, threw it over the nearest piece of furniture, and bent over Geralt’s bed again.

“Do you feel you can shift onto your side?” he asked, taking hold of the edge of the blanket and waiting for Geralt’s response.

“Hell yeah,” Geralt said and obviously tensed up to shift.

“Stop!” Alucard yelped. “I’ll help. Don’t do anything that would tear your stitches open.”

“It’s been three days already,” Geralt protested. “The holes have to have closed by now.”

“You can’t know.” 

Alucard pulled the blanket down and reached under Geralt, slowly helping him shift to the side. Geralt didn’t protest, too focused on breathing. For all his talk, he did get a shade paler and was breathing heavily by the time he was settled onto his side.

“Damn,” he groaned. “It feels good not being on my back again.”

Alucard smiled, toed off his shoes, and carefully slipped into the bed, cuddling up close to Geralt’s back. The bandages and splints were so numerous that they hadn’t even bothered with a hospital gown. Despite that, there was still very little exposed skin. He slid one arm under Geralt’s head, pillowing it, and carefully rested the other on Geralt’s hip.

He pressed his nose into the back of Geralt’s neck and inhaled, trying to get his real scent from beneath all the medications and chemicals that muddled it. Geralt's hair tickled his face. It needed a wash, it still held the barest traces of smell from the forest. Blood and dirt, leaves and pain.

A shudder ran through Geralt’s body, and he leaned into Alucard just a little bit. That little movement was probably all he could do comfortably.

Alucard pushed his leg between Geralt’s, letting Geralt rest his outer leg on his own. Geralt sighed.

“Oh, that feels good,” he said with a groan. “I didn't realize how tight my lower back was from all this laying around.”

“You are getting better,” Alucard murmured. He slid his hand over Geralt’s waist and down to his belly, resting it there very gently. 

“I’m sorry I’m not better now,” Geralt whispered sadly. “It can’t be easy to look at this.”

Alucard had to make sure he didn't tighten his hold and hurt Geralt by accident.

“I’m just glad you are alive.” He shivered. “The moment my spell worked on you…it was the best, worst thing that ever happened to me.”

“Worst?” Geralt asked, tilting his head slightly to peek at Alucard out of the corner of his eye.

“Geralt.” Alucard could feel his throat tightening. “Time shift spells work only on inanimate things. _Dead things_.”

“Oh,” came the soft reply. 

“You were so close to being nothing but dead meat, and I was pouring so much power into the spell, that it clicked. I could feel it hesitating, could feel how weakly it held you. That was the only thing giving me hope.”

Geralt moved just a tiny bit, enough to cover Alucard’s hand with his own. 

“I thought I was dead,” he said softly. “Seeing you two was the last thing I wanted. I thought that was it.” Light fingers stroked over the top of Alucard’s wrist.

“My Father promised you that you wouldn’t die alone,” Alucard murmured. “When he said that, I thought I would probably try to stop him when he did whatever he needed to reach you in that last moment.” Alucard pressed his face into the crook of Geralt’s neck. “It wouldn't be pretty or safe for anyone, but now…” Alucard closed his eyes. “I would have helped. I can’t stand the thought of you leaving me, leaving us like that. Permanently.” 

He could feel the shape of the staples under the layer of gauze on Geralt’s stomach. It terrified him still, how much Geralt looked like a patchwork quilt. There were bruises still blooming on his skin, green and yellow, purple still in some places. He was still so very fragile.

“I’m so sorry that I almost did.” Each word held a wealth of unhappiness. It was plain that Geralt was truly regretful, and Alucard could almost taste the guilt on him.

“Not your fault,” Alucard sighed, rubbing his face against the warm skin on Geralt’s neck. He needed a shave, his beard was coming in strongly already.

The way Geralt didn’t answer that at all made Alucard frown. He remembered what Eskel said, about how Geralt was prone to self recriminations. Part of it could be just the pain and inactivity, though. That was bound to make Geralt feel moody. He’d have to keep an eye on this in the future.

“Where’s Dracula?” Geralt asked after a minute or two. “Did he come back yet?”

“I…have no idea where he is,” Alucard said with a sigh. “I haven’t been able to reach the castle since sometime yesterday evening.”

Geralt’s breath caught for a moment, then he clearly forced himself to breathe. “Well, that’s unsettling.” He took another slow breath, and Alucard could feel Geralt’s heartbeat steady a little under his lips. They had long since turned the volume off on the heart monitor next to the bed, so there wasn’t any noise to bother them. “I hope he’s alright.”

“You are the only one with a key to the castle now,” Alucard said. 

Granted, if he really wanted to get in and didn’t care about the cost, Alucard could have found a way. Probably. He doubted his Father would have purposefully locked him out of it. But he didn't see the need for forcing his way in when Geralt could open the door for him.

Geralt patted a hand up around his neck, but there was nothing there. “I think you must have it. Unless Dracula took it along with my witcher medallion.”

“It’s keyed to you,” Alucard said. “It’s _yours_.”

Geralt chewed on that thought for a moment, and then returned to stroking Alucard’s hand. “When I can move again. If he’s not back by then, we’ll go find him.” 

There was steel in his voice, and a certainty that Alucard appreciated. Witchers were persistent beyond reason, and if Geralt set his mind to finding Dracula, he wouldn’t stop until he did.

“I don’t think it will come to that,” Alucard said, and hoped that he wasn’t lying. “There’s more, though.”

“More,” Geralt repeated flatly.

“I think…that the castle is no longer where it used to be? That place feels empty now.”

“So what you are saying is, not only Dracula is gone, but the castle is gone, too.”

“Pretty much.”

Geralt huffed out a small laugh.

“So, situation normal, all fucked up?”

Alucard could feel his eyes grow heavy. He was still exhausted, the strain of holding that spell for so long plus keeping a collected image for everybody was taking its toll. Feeding on Dracula helped restore his energy a bit, and the unexpected encounter in the bathroom served even better to quiet the edge of panic churning in his stomach, but he still felt strangely tired. 

It had been days, and every time he saw Geralt in the hospital bed, he remembered how close he had been to losing his lover. Having to look and act calm and unaffected for the people working for him was exhausting in ways he hadn’t expected.

“You should sleep,” Geralt said softly, his fingers still stroking over Alucard’s hand. “Let me have you here for a while. Rest with me.”

Alucard hesitated to take him up on the offer. He wanted to be awake and aware for every moment he could while Geralt lay in his arms. 

But Geralt was warm. His body radiated enough heat to warm up Alucard’s ever cold hands and push him that little bit closer to sleep.

“Just for a little while,” Alucard murmured, closing his eyes and finding a comfortable spot to rest his face in the crook of Geralt’s neck.

“I’ll wake you up,” Geralt promised sweetly. 

Alucard knew it was a lie and couldn't help but smile at the manipulation. Geralt really had to be feeling better if he had the energy to try and deceive Alucard.

He fell asleep still smiling.

\---

Eskel leaned back in his chair next to the closed door to Geralt’s room. He’d almost put the damn thing in front of the door, just to be that much more of a road block, but decided against it. He didn’t want to be tripping over the chair himself if he needed to get in. 

It wasn’t that he was worried, per se. Alucard’s people were well trained and very alert, even if they did have some flaws that he could pick out just by watching them. Regardless, the hospital floor was well guarded. And it wasn’t like Eskel, or even Alucard, couldn’t stop nearly any nuisance themselves if the human guards failed. 

It was just that the whole damn situation here had left Eskel extremely unsettled. Geralt being so damn injured, and in such an insecure building. One siege weapon attack to a lower floor and this whole place would be ready to collapse. Plus there was the fact that Alucard was hiding his nature here, so he was basically a civilian. On top of that, Eskel was still smarting from the loss of his armor and swords. 

Little things just kept piling up. Dracula was missing. Ciri had left. Lambert was in the wind. 

There were too many people here. Granted, most of them on this floor were Alucard’s guards. But Eskel still didn’t know them. Given what he’d seen of Matt so far, Eskel had to assume that his subordinates were competent, but he still hadn’t seen any of them fight. Nor had he seen what weapons they carried, or how they worked. It was driving him to distraction. 

Then there was all this stuff with Alucard tasting his blood. It wasn’t a real feeding, but maybe that wasn’t as far off as it once seemed. Ciri’s words echoed in Eskel’s skull, and he kept chasing the possibilities around in his head. 

Was he really interested in men? He didn’t think so, but after so many months of being close to Dracula and Alucard he had to admit to himself that _something_ had grown there. Was it real attraction, or just the side effects of their vampiric powers and habits?

Ciri was right. How those bites felt were completely under Dracula’s control, though it seemed Alucard didn’t know what he was doing with that. _Yet_. So the pleasure he felt there was on purpose. But there was also the rampant desire he felt towards them when he was filled up with their power. 

It was confusing, and Eskel wasn’t sure how to deal with it. Or if he even should. Things were good as they were, and he was extremely hesitant to upset the status quo. 

All of this added up to making him extremely twitchy. He wanted to train. To fight. To do something, _anything_ at this point. 

It wasn’t bad when Geralt was awake, because Eskel had taken it upon himself to keep his brother occupied and happy, for the greater sanity of all. 

But when Geralt slept, which was often, Eskel tried to stay out of the way. Alucard was very busy, and looked more stressed than a cat in a bath house. Maybe the humans didn’t see it, but Eskel did. He hoped that spending some private time with Geralt would ease them both. 

As quickly as he was healing, by human standards at least, Geralt was still gravely wounded and antsy as hell. More than that, Eskel could see how Geralt’s eyes lingered on Alucard. Every time his nose twitched with distaste, Eskel knew that he was smelling the rank stench of death, infection, and harsh chemicals that saturated this building. Dracula had taken his armored coat with him, and Alucard couldn’t summon his without causing suspicion. The lack of his lover’s touch and scent around him was clearly driving Geralt a little nuts. 

Maybe Eskel should ask for his armored jacket back. See if Geralt would prefer that scent over the smell of the hospital. It wouldn’t be as good as anything of Dracula’s or Alucard’s, but it would have traces of them on it. 

He sat and stewed over his worries. 

After the first half hour, he started watching the guards extremely closely. Categorizing their weak points. Matt might like to know. Maybe they could do a few quick training sessions with them. Not only would they get some valuable practice out of it, but Eskel could have a chance to see what they were made of. Eskel was not as competent a teacher as Vesemir---few were---but he was reasonably good. Especially for basics, which from the looks of these men, they might need a brush up on that. 

As he watched, he absently tossed a knife in his hand, running through simple exercises that would keep up his agility and awareness. When he first drew it, the other guard at the door looked like he was about to say something. One quick glare was enough to keep him silent, though. 

When he finished the exercises with one hand, he switched to the other. 

Fuck, this was boring. Guard duty always was. He thought briefly about trying to engage the guard next to him in conversation, but the way the man was side-eyeing him didn’t really lend itself to friendly chatter. 

He wished he’d brought dice. Or cards. He had his gwent decks, but those were stashed away with his armor somewhere. Even with them in hand, he’d still have to deal with the guard’s obvious distaste. 

The nurses were giving him wide-eyed looks, too. They didn’t even try to come over and ask to get in for regular check ups like they would have if Eskel wasn’t there. While that was unfortunate, it wasn’t really a shock. Eskel damn well knew he didn’t look approachable. Hell, intimidation was something witchers were good at. 

Ciri said he looked nice in his borrowed clothes, though. John had brought him a whole array of options. Eskel found that he favored the heavy blue pants and button up shirts the best. They were the most comfortable and the easiest to hide a wide array of weapons in. 

Target practice was a tempting thought, but there wasn’t really anywhere to throw his knives into. The walls all looked like some kind of fine plaster or metal. Hell, even the chairs and desks were made of the weird colored smooth stuff. Not to mention the fact that Alucard might get annoyed with him if he damaged something he wasn’t supposed to. 

After a couple hours had passed, Eskel started to reconsider striking up conversation with the other guard. 

He’d been awake for so long that his eyes were starting to burn a bit. It wasn’t something he noticed when he was entertaining Geralt; he was busy then. Witchers could go a damn long time without sleep. Hell, they could skip it entirely if they meditated at least once in a while. 

Eskel liked to sleep, though. It was soothing. But he couldn’t here. There was too much to stay aware of. Even if none of it was an active danger or issue, it still nagged at him in the back of his mind. 

He didn’t even feel right meditating. He hated the idea of being unaware here, surrounded by so many people he didn’t trust, and he especially hated the idea of leaving Geralt and Alucard vulnerable. 

There wasn’t much point to it anyways. The toxicity from the Swallow potion he’d taken before Dracula had left was still in his system, but it was minor. Easily ignored. He didn’t really _need_ to meditate. 

He started the agility exercises over again, this time slightly faster. Just quick little flips and tosses with one hand, something that could be done absently. At this point, he didn’t even need to look at the blade to do it; the swift little movements came as easily as tapping his fingers. 

The guard next to him was staring. 

Rude.

Although, maybe he just wanted to talk and didn’t quite know how to start that conversation. Eskel could sympathize. People here were wildly different than what he was used to. He wasn’t quite sure himself how to bridge the gap. Normally, he’d try offering to buy a round of beer, but Alucard and the doctor had been firm; no booze allowed. 

This guy seemed to be particularly interested in Eskel’s practice, so maybe that was a good way in.

Eskel met his eyes and raised an eyebrow. 

“You a knife fighter?” he asked quietly.

The man swallowed, and his eyes flickered back to Eskel’s blade. “I learned when I was in the service.”

_The service._

Eskel puzzled over that for a moment, humming quietly to himself. Maybe this guy did a stint with the city guard, or some royal’s army somewhere. From the looks of this man, he didn’t have more than a single blade on him. Not even a throwing knife. That implied that the man knew a bit about knife fighting, but wasn’t really day to day proficient with it. Again, Eskel wondered about what other weapons they carried. Clubs, maybe?

“I need to ask your boss if I can have some fun with you all,” Eskel said finally. “He said no bloodshed in the hall, but maybe we could set up a side room.”

A little practice fighting would be a great way to pass the time. The guards here were a little stiff, but fighters everywhere loved to share styles. It was just too much fun seeing how other people dealt with the same type of attack. Matt seemed interested when Eskel had brought it up before, so maybe some of the other guards would be, too. Once the practicing started, they’d all loosen up. Nothing makes friends like shared techniques, after all.

The man blinked at him, then swallowed again. “I’ll be sure to talk to Mr. Snow about it. He can discuss options with Mr. Belmont.”

If that wasn’t a formal dismissal from further conversation, Eskel didn’t know what was. 

He held back a sigh and went back to staring at the wall across from them. Time to run through the agility exercises again. At least that would keep one hand busy while he waited. Hopefully Geralt and Alucard were getting some solid rest in there. That would make the boredom worth it. 

\---


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes from Quarra: For those who offered me well wishes, thank you so much! Surgery went well, I'm in recovery now and doing reasonably good. Thank you so much for your comments and thoughts. They really, _really_ brightened my week.

As soon as Vesemir changed into dry clothes, he finished up the rounds of Kaer Morhen to make sure that the keep itself remained unchanged. 

As far as he could tell, nothing more had been changed than what Dracula had already done prior to this week. There still was no sign of any of the sex demons. Even the elemental in the baths seemed to work at half strength at best, its fire banked and hiding deep in the enormous kettle. The water was still warm, but no longer piping hot as before. 

There was a strange sense of waiting around the keep, as if the whole place was holding its breath.

Once he was done, he went back to the kitchen. The little black cat sat in front of the fire. She was tucked into a comfortable little lump, but her tail twitched in agitation. Maybe she smelled the stew. 

The whole day seemed surreal, and Vesemir had to wonder if the keep was still even in the same world. Had Dracula gotten so paranoid for Geralt’s safety that he just scooped Kaer Morhen up and took it away? He tried to console himself with the fact that the river still flowed in and out of the valley and despite the new additions, there were still a few of the old familiar mountain peaks on the horizon. As far as he could tell, the land beyond the wall was the same as ever. He hadn’t yet taken a trip up the mountain that Kaer Morhen was built into just to double check that, though.

It felt very isolated here, especially with everyone else gone. Not that Vesemir minded being alone. He liked a certain amount of quiet time, actually. But the quiet after so many months of company was unsettling. More so, given everything else that was going on. 

Just as Vesemir was serving himself up a bowl of rabbit stew, the cat stood up from the hot stone in front of the fire and leapt up to go stare out the window. Her tail thrashed with interest at whatever she saw. 

Vesemir ate one spoonful of the stew and watched the agitated cat. Then he ate another, his eyes tracking the lashing tail. It was probably nothing. 

He was curious, though. The way the cat was walking back and forth on the windowsill it was obvious that she was watching something outside. A bird, probably.

Vesemir kept eating, though he ate a bit quicker than he’d originally planned. Once he was done with his food, he stood up and went to the window, willing to indulge his curiosity. He was ready to smile at whatever small creature the cat was watching with so much attention. 

But there were no birds perched outside the window.

There were, however, two huge, armed demons dragging what looked like two tied up humans through Vesemir’s courtyard.

“Fuck,” he swore under his breath. In a heartbeat, he dashed to the door, grabbing his cloak on the way out. As he raced to the courtyard, he settled its heavy weight on his shoulders. Centuries of habit guided him to settling it so that his swords could be drawn easily despite the wrapped fabric.

He took a second to wonder if he should draw his silver sword. Again, he thought of Dracula’s promise. No dark thing would ever harm him here. 

Now was a hell of a time to test that theory, though.

Vesemir hit the courtyard in just short of a run, but slowed immediately as soon as he was outside. The last thing he wanted to do was look aggressive. Not on the chance that this could be solved without bloodshed. In normal circumstances, Vesemir wouldn’t hesitate to gut any monster that dared set foot in Kaer Morhen. But, well, life had changed pretty drastically for him in the last year. More so in the past day, too.

As soon as he stepped into view, the large armored demons stopped in their tracks and looked at him. They were both tall humanoid creatures, with bits of plate mail strapped to them. Some kind of lower form vampire, Vesemir suspected. It was late enough in the evening that the sun had already pulled back behind the wall in the east. He had to wonder if the creatures had waited until after the sun went down to show up with their little delivery.

He approached cautiously, but calmly, and stopped within an easy talking distance. Not too close though; Vesemir was more than aware of the potential reach those creatures could have. 

The men they dragged behind them looked vaguely familiar. A couple of folks from one of the closest villages, perhaps? They would have had to be quite a ways up into the mountains to get up into this valley, but it wasn’t impossible.

One of the demons held up its bundle and screeched at Vesemir. Whatever guttural demonic language that creature spoke, Vesemir had never heard it before. All he could do was blink. The men, both gagged, stared at him with wide terrified eyes.

The other demon spoke something at its companion and then back at Vesemir. It raised up the human it had in its clawed hand and shook it at Vesemir, as if saying, _see this_?

Vesemir pursed his lips. 

“Are those for me?” he asked. When the demons just looked at him, he sighed. If he didn’t understand what they were saying, logic held that they wouldn’t understand him. 

Vesemir pointed at the two men. “Those two can go right here.” Then he pointed at the ground off to his side. Hopefully, the demons would get the gist of what he was saying and go with it. 

The demons looked at him, and then looked at each other. Then they looked behind where Vesemir stood. As curious as Vesemir was about what they might be looking at, he wasn’t about to take his eyes off of the monsters in front of him. 

There was a bit more of the guttural language, but the demons dragged their prey over to where Vesemir pointed to and dropped them like one would a sack of potatoes. The two demons grumbled a bit more, but took themselves out of the courtyard after that. 

Vesemir waited until they were out of sight before turning to the two men. To his lack of surprise, the little black cat was giving them a good sniff.

_Fearless little thing_, Vesemir thought with amusement. Based on her familiarity with people, the cat had to be someone’s barn cat, lost when the city showed up. A good addition to a witcher keep, though he had to wonder what caught the cat’s attention in the courtyard in the first place. Probably just birds. He considered planting some particularly seedy flowers under the window. Echinacea maybe. That would bring a whole host of critters to tease the cat. Useful herb, too.

He went to the bound men, pulled one of the small knives he had hidden along the insides of his sleeves, and started cutting the ties on them. 

One was older, definitely over forty. Grey and wiry, he had the look of a longtime hunter. His leather gear and weathered face were usual for what Vesemir saw the local hunters use. The other man was younger; something in the shape of his bone structure told Vesemir that the two were related. Probably father and son. The younger one had four rabbits strapped to his belt and a squirrel. Definitely hunters, then.

“Master witcher!” the older one gasped as soon as his mouth was free. “Thank you!” He was already scrambling to his feet and seeing to his son, looking him over for injuries.

“What happened?” Vesemir asked. He stepped back and let the man take care of his son. The younger hunter must have resisted more. There was a large bruise on the right side of his face and his brow was cut through. None of those injuries looked serious.

“I’m Palo,” the older man said. Vesemir noticed he was missing the tip of the little finger on his left hand. “And this is my son, Mika. We are hunters from Goose Landing.”

“Isn’t it a little far for you?” Vesemir asked cautiously. The locals never went this deep into the mountains. The travel just wasn't worth it and they didn’t have any game worth the risk of the dangers they could meet there. There were a hell of a lot of bears in these woods, come the right time of year.

“We weren’t anywhere near,” the younger one chimed in, fending his father’s worried hands away. “We were near the springs.” 

He was referring to a spot just inside the valley proper; it was several hours walk from the nearest town, at least. A small creek there took life from a series of natural springs. The underground water was warmer than the freezing air and that meant it usually didn’t freeze during the winter months. It was a good hunting spot for game. It was almost a whole day’s travel from Kaer Morhen, at a witcher’s pace, too. 

“Those things…they came just after the walls appeared,” Mika said.

“We were out early checking the traps,” Palo said. “We have good spots along the creek,” he said. “When the walls appeared, we hid in a hollowed out tree. We didn't want to start a fire.”

“We thought we could hide.” Mika carefully wiped his swollen nose on his sleeve. “We waited until full daylight and then tried to look for a way back home.”

“When night came, the demons came, too,” Palo said in a shaking voice. “It was like they knew exactly where were hiding. Just came right for us and dragged us out.” He turned his pale eyes to his son again. “Mika fought.”

Vesemir couldn’t blame the young man. It was obvious he wouldn't be able to fight off two of those vampires, not without knowledge and equipment. It was equally obvious that the man was physically well built, possibly used to winning fights. Clearly, he’d decided he wasn’t going to go to his death quietly. Admirable spirit, though not very useful. 

“They knocked me out,” Mika said, looking down in shame.

“Me too,” Palo added. “I woke up when they were dragging us through the bridge.”

That was a small blessing. As glad as Vesemir was that the demons weren’t openly killing anyone found in the valley---though he had to assume that a witcher might be safe---he also hated the idea of the path to Kaer Morhen being known to anyone else. 

“Come on,” he said, helping Mika stand up. “I’ve got some stew ready in the kitchen. We can get you patched up while you warm up.”

The cat kept pace with them as they walked, sniffing at the new men curiously but keeping enough distance that they couldn’t touch her.

They trudged together into the keep, and Vesemir got them settled at the kitchen table. Luckily, he’d made a fair amount of food under the assumption that Ciri or Eskel might be back at some point, so there was plenty to serve both men a bowl each. They practically inhaled the hot liquid as he rummaged around for something to put on their bruises. 

In the meantime, he puzzled over what to say to them. If anything. He wondered even harder on what the hell he was even supposed to do with a couple of random huntsmen. So far, he hadn’t seen any doors in the damn wall around the valley, though he knew he hadn’t done anywhere near a comprehensive check. The area the wall covered was just too vast. 

Vesemir also had to wonder if Dracula was just going to keep them in here, like fish in a bucket. Where was the vampire anyway? Why hadn’t he shown up yet to admire his new creation?

“Master witcher,” Palo said hesitantly.

“Vesemir. My name is Vesemir,” he replied. 

“Vesemir. Are we prisoners here?” So many things were mixed into that question. Caution. Worry. But there was also a flat earnestness that Vesemir liked. Farm folk didn’t tend to beat around the bush much, not like the high court types. It was a relief to have them just ask outright.

He sat down next to Mika at the table and laid out some healing salve and a few clean rags. 

After a moment of thought, he said, “That is a more complicated question than it might seem to be. Short answer, I don’t think so.”

Mika and Palo exchanged a look. 

“And the long answer?” Mika asked.

Vesemir sighed. “The long answer is that I have just as many questions as you both no doubt have, and I’m not sure when I’ll get the answers to them. But if I can, I’ll make sure the two of you find your way home.”

With that, he made a short gesture towards Mika’s face, waving him to come closer, and proceeded to get the man cleaned up. 

“Neither you nor I are the…target of this whole thing.” Vesemir waved his hand around indicating the huge fortress that had grown around them overnight. “If luck holds for you, that will mean you and your village will escape mostly unscathed.”

“And for you?” Palo asked shrewdly. “You do not think you will?”

Vesemir huffed out a dry laugh. He thought about all the changes to Kaer Morhen in the last year, the extra people and improvements to the keep. He thought about how much happier Geralt and Eskel seemed, and how even Lambert, Ciri, Triss, and Yennefer all stopped by more. Hell, he thought of the damn demons just bringing the hunters here instead of eating them on the spot.

“I think I will not escape unchanged,” he said finally. “But I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.” He finished up spreading the salve over Mika’s face, and looked both men up and down. “Anything else that needs seeing to?”

They both shook their heads.

Vesemir cleaned up the various debris from the table and poured them all some hot tea. He took a minute to enjoy the warmth of his mug, and was pleased to see that both Mika and Palo had relaxed into their drinks as well. As much as could be expected anyways. This was still likely a very trying day for them.

“It’s too late to do much more tonight. I’ll set you up a place to sleep, and we’ll see what comes in the morning.” 

After a moment, Mika said, “Vesemir. Why did the demons bring us to you? Why didn’t you fight them? I thought---” Palo shot his son a sharp look, but Mika forged on. “I thought that witchers killed monsters.”

Vesemir sipped his tea. He had to give the man credit, that was a ballsy question to ask in his position. After all, if Vesemir controlled the demons, then these two might be courting his ire by bringing it up. 

Maybe it wasn’t so foolish, though. After all, Vesemir had been a hospitable host thus far, and both men were warm and safe at the moment. In the comfortable light of the kitchen, it was easy to think that things dark and evil were far away. There was a sense of safety in that.

“Witchers do kill monsters, but generally only for gold. And us Wolf witchers only kill monsters who are menacing others. Not much point otherwise.” A general statement, but not an untrue one. “What other schools do, I can’t attest to. These demons didn’t seem hostile and if I engaged, I could have killed them, or they could have killed me.” He paused, to make the impression, making them really listen. “In either case, the chances of you two surviving that fight were miserable at best.”

That seemed to sink in, at least for Mika. Palo looked unsurprised, possibly because he’d already considered that eventuality.

“As for why they brought you to me…”

He paused to think it over. If these two did make it back to their village, no doubt every word he said would be spread around as quickly as possible. Vesemir sipped his drink and considered how much he wanted strangers to know, and how much trouble that might get them in later. 

“That, I might have to get back to you on,” Vesemir said finally, erring on the side of caution. 

\---

Vesemir woke up the next morning stiff beyond reason. His legs and lower back ached. It took him a moment to realize there was a warm weight over his covers, just between his thighs. He shifted his legs and sat up; his joints unusually creaky and sore after hours of no movement. Nestled in the seam between his legs, there was a small puddle of black fur curled tightly into a ball. 

The cat.

“How did you get here?” he asked, picking her up and looking at her reproachfully. He was sure he left her in the kitchen when he went to bed.

She had the gall to yawn; her tiny pink maw was full of equally tiny white fangs. After the long yawn, she blinked her sea green eyes open. She didn’t even bother to try and escape. She just hung limp in his grasp like a warm pillow and looked at him as if he was disturbing her well deserved rest. 

He shook his head at her and set her on a chair next to the bed. 

“Donno why you’d want to be up here when there’s a nice warm fire place in the kitchen. I even left you a little blanket to sleep on,” he grumbled quietly while he wandered around and got ready for the day. A quick peek out the window proved that it was closer to when he normally woke in the morning. The sun was still hidden behind the _enormous fucking wall_ that circled the valley. 

Vesemir sighed. 

He would never get used to the damn city all around his keep.

It only took him a minute to gather his clothes and gear, then he was off to the baths. When the cat followed him out he looked at her with a raised eyebrow. 

“You know we’re headed to the baths, right? Lots of water. You sure that’s where you want to go?” Not that he expected the cat to answer, but it was amusing to talk to her anyways. 

The cat just looked at him with narrowed eyes, but kept on following him. She did stay a healthy distance away from the water once there, but sat primly and watched him clean up. Then she followed him out to the kitchen when he was done.

“Strange little critter, aren’t you,” he mused. “Gonna have those woodsmen start whispering about animal familiars with how much you follow me around.” 

Still, he stooped down to give her an affectionate scratch. If this was how she dealt with people, maybe she’d stick around for a while. It would be nice to have something normal around the keep for a change.

“You gonna stay here for a bit, kitty? Be a kitchen cat while I’m out on the Path?”

Vesemir snorted in amusement at the thought of the cat riding pillion on the back of his horse while he was out hunting. 

Quickly, he got the kettle ready and the woodstove and oven lit. Soon enough those woodsmen would be up and he’d have to figure out how to deal with them. 

“Can’t leave them to wander around here alone,” he muttered to himself. That sounded like a terrible plan on a couple of different levels. Not only did he hate the idea of leaving strangers to wander the keep, but he also didn’t want to imagine what would happen if Dracula showed up while he was out and found them here alone. 

He looked down at the food he was making and laughed. Yeah, that’s what Dracula would probably think too, that somebody got him a snack while he was out.

“Can’t take them out with me.” He only had the one horse, and trying to walk the valley on foot was a several day long trip. 

Eventually, someone would show up again. If not Dracula himself, then one of the other demons. Or hell, if it took long enough, Alucard would bring Geralt back once he was healed up. They had the resources to wait for a fair amount of time before Vesemir would really start to worry. He’d long since made it a habit to keep Kaer Morhen very well stocked.

That decided, he set out some chopped meat for the cat and then settled in to prepare for his guests to wake up. 

He didn’t have to wait long. As excited as the men were to see a hot meal ready for them, they were equally dismayed to hear that Vesemir had no plans to take them out of the valley right away. As if he knew how. 

“I have a wife,” Mika said with a worried frown. “She’s with child, due in only a few weeks.”

“I haven’t enough horses to take you two with me while I try to find a way out, and it would be far, far worse for you to be found here without me,” Vesemir said calmly. When it looked like the man might object again, Vesemir silenced him with a look. The same look he’d given countless scores of students in the past. He’d had a lot of practice getting it just right. “Someone who knows more will come sooner or later. Better we wait here for them.”

“Doria will be fine, Mika,” Palo said quietly. “Vanessa will keep a look out for her until we get back.”

Now that was a name that Vesemir recognized. Vanessa was the innkeeper at Goose Landing, and she always kept brandy in stock for witchers passing through. 

“Until then, you boys up for cards?” Vesemir asked easily. Might as well pass the time with a friendly game. There were chores to do, of course, but they could start them after the day had warmed up a bit. It might be the tail end of the season, but winter still had a bite to it.

It took a little while, but both Mika and Palo relaxed into the activity. By lunchtime, they were laughing and joking like friends. If there was still the telltale signs of anxiety about them, well, Vesemir didn’t blame them at all. 

Vesemir’s medallion buzzed against his armor and a loud neigh trumpeted out from the courtyard. Both Mika and Palo jumped in place like they’d been poked with a stick.

“Oh, good. Night is here,” Vesemir said absently. 

Finally somebody who could travel outside the walls.

The cat was already at the window, watching. He got up and peeked out over her. Sure enough, Night was there, and with Ciri and Lambert on her back. 

“Thank the Gods,” he said quietly, and sagged with relief. Lambert was alive and safe, if looking a little rough. All of his boys were accounted for. Vesemir closed his eyes for just a brief moment and rested a hand on the cat’s head, giving her an absent pet. The little beast purred up a storm under his hand.

He put more water in the kettle and grabbed his cloak from the hook. Then he paused to look at Mika and Palo. 

“There’s a horse outside. Night. She has the run of the courtyard, and she’s…probably best left alone.”

Both men exchanged a look, but Vesemir ignored it. He had charges to take care of. 

By the time he got out to greet them, Lambert was still staring up at the city walls and distant towers, jaw slack and eyes wide. Ciri walked up and gave Vesemir a quick hug, and he smiled at her.

“Go on in,” he told her. “There’s two humans in the kitchen, so you know. Huntsmen from a nearby town.”

“Oh good!” Ciri’s shoulders dropped a little in relief. She looked to Lambert, hesitating. 

“I’ll get him,” Vesemir said, and shooed her on. 

Lambert looked like he’d been dragged through hell face down. His armor was gone, replaced with shitty, obviously scrounged gear. Of his regular gear, only his swords and a dagger were still on his person. The fact that he still had those at least was a small mercy. Good swords were damn hard to replace. Blood had soaked through several parts of his worn jacket and one arm and shoulder had several nasty gashes on it. It looked like there was some kind of meat hanging off his belt, but Night was taking advantage of his distraction and was nibbling it right off of him. 

“Come on lad, let’s get you inside,” Vesemir said, grabbing a hold of Lambert’s good arm and steering him towards the stable entrance. 

“The fuck happened here?” Lambert rubbed his eyes. 

Vesemir sighed. “I’ll give you three guesses and a hint, it rhymes with ‘Ackula’.” Lambert snorted, but allowed himself to be led. Night trailed hopefully behind them, lipping at one last bit of meat on Lambert’s belt. “Strip and get washed. I’ll patch you up in the kitchen. We can talk there.”

Lambert nodded, still looking dazed and tired.

Then Vesemir turned to Night. He crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow at her. 

She pranced in place, tail flagged, clearly very thrilled with her performance.

“You teleported into the keep,” Vesemir said flatly. 

Immediately, she froze. One ear flipped to the side, and she glanced away really quickly. He stared at her some more and ran his tongue over his teeth. She shifted in place and turned her head sideways to look at him with one large innocent eye. As innocent as a red, burning, demon eye could be, anyways.

“Claw marks on the stone floor,” he continued on. “Not one, but two different door frames broken. Furniture and potion bottles in shattered pieces.”

She shifted in place again, shuffling her feet. Her ears were laid back and her head dipped a little lower. 

“Do you know how difficult it is to replace stone flooring several stories up in the middle of a keep?” Vesemir raised an eyebrow at her.

Night perked up, ears forward. 

“No, it’s not easy.”

She dropped her head again, huffing a little. 

“In the future, if you need to get into the keep for something, you get my attention and we’ll work out what you need. None of this running around destroying half the wing as you try to squeeze in and out. Understood?”

Night neighed at him, getting her fangs far too close to Vesemir for comfort. She trotted up to Lambert, who was hanging by the entryway watching the show with obvious amusement, and nudged him with her head. Then she looked at Vesemir and nudged Lambert again, harder than before, getting a “hey!” from him.

“You went to go get Lambert,” Vesemir said quietly, thinking it through. 

He cast his mind back to the events of the previous day, and how worried he’d been about where his boys were. He tilted his head and frowned, remembering how most of the destruction up stairs was in Lambert’s room. Vesemir’s room had gotten away unscathed, as did the sorceresses, Ciri, and Dandelion’s room. Geralt’s room was untouched, which was no shock. Eskel’s had some issues, and Lambert's…well, it was a bloody mess. There was an obvious trail through the hall where Night had poked around looking for something, and it had ended in Lambert’s room. 

“But you’ve never met Lambert before,” Vesemir said musingly. “Did you go looking for something of his so you could find him?”

Night tossed her head and preened again, nudging Lambert one more time as if he was some kind of trophy.

Vesemir held back a smile. By the Gods, Night did a lot of damage, but it was clear that she was trying very hard. It was both kind and clever of her to go fetch Lambert, too, though how she knew that Vesemir was worried about him, it was hard to say. He didn’t want to encourage her to go romping through the keep, though.

“You understand a lot more of what I talk about than I thought,” he said with sigh. “You got that I was worried about Lambert.” He tilted his head. “So you are also getting the fact you are not allowed into the keep, aren’t you?”

Night flipped her ears back and heaved a heavy sigh. 

Again, Vesemir only just stopped himself from snickering. The damage would be a pain in the ass to repair, but some things were far more important. Like Lambert being alive and well. Not to mention, this was hardly the first time that someone had done something ill advised in the keep. Some of Geralt and Eskel’s exploits as children came to mind, actually. He took a step closer and scratched behind her ears. “I am very, very happy that you found Lambert and brought him here. Thank you, Night. As soon as I get him cleaned up and settled in I’ll come out and give you a good brushing.”

She neighed at him again, prancing in place for a moment before she trotted away, possibly to investigate the courtyard. Vesemir and Lambert watched her go, and he had to admit she was one beautiful horse. With shining black coat and powerful muscles, she was an embodiment of power and vitality. Vesemir remembered how it felt to ride her, the smooth stride and sheer power of it. Dracula did like to have pretty things.

“So,” Lambert asked. “Did you just play fetch with a demon horse using me as the toy?”

Vesemir looked at him, eyeing the mauled shoulder and arm. Then he looked down, taking in the lack of gear and obviously stolen jacket. He looked back up to Lambert’s face and raised his eyebrows. “Are you complaining?”

Lambert’s face puckered like he’d swallowed a lemon for a moment. “...Did I hear correctly that said demon horse got into my room?”

That made Vesemir sigh. “Yes. I picked up most of the broken things, but some cleaning still needs to be done. We’ll get to it today if…well, if nothing else comes up.”

“When it rains it fucking pours,” Lambert grumbled, but turned to go head up to get changed. 

By the time Vesemir got to the kitchen, Ciri had already set up a bowl of hot water, towels, and a small healing kit. She’d lived with witchers a long time. She knew the drill. 

Both Palo and Mika were watching Ciri’s preparation with interest. Vesemir frowned for a moment. Lambert needed to be brought up to speed, and that would be easier done with Ciri while Vesemir was fixing up those slashes in Lambert’s arm. He was hesitant to talk in front of the villagers though.

Then again, this affected them as much as anyone. Maybe they deserved to know something of what was going on. 

He refilled his mug of tea, and got a cup for Lambert, too. Ciri had already helped herself. When he sat down he gave Palo and Mika a serious look. 

“We’ve got a bit to talk about here---”

“You want us to leave,” Mika interrupted, face twisted with outrage. Palo shot him a sharp look. “This forest is our livelihood and now we are cut off from it. We deserve to know what’s going on.”

Vesemir raised a chiding eyebrow at him. “No lad, I wasn’t going to ask you to leave. But I was going to warn you that knowledge is a dangerous thing. This, all of this”---he waved a hand towards the window---“is going to draw the attention of very powerful people.”

“It already has,” Ciri interjected.

Vesemir nodded at her. “So, be mindful that what you hear here shouldn’t be spread around. Not just for our comfort and safety, but your own as well.”

Mika just frowned further, but Palo nodded. 

“The king’ll send men,” Palo said quietly. “Mages and soldiers. They’ll question anyone and everyone who might know something.”

That seemed to sink in. Mika cast a wide-eyed look at his father. The upset on his face was already shifting to worry.

“Mages are already in Goose Landing, and every other town with eyes on the walls,” Ciri said. “When I first came here to investigate, I went to the town in search of a horse. Two mages were already there, asking about witchers and if anybody had gotten even close to the wall. Vanessa, the innkeeper, helped me remain unnoticed and gave me her horse.”

“Save the rest for when Lambert gets down,” Vesemir said with an offhand wave. “That way you don’t need to repeat yourself.”

Palo and Mika shared another look, and this time Mika was clearly looking for guidance from his father. Palo patted him on the shoulder and gave him a reassuring, if strained, smile. 

“We’ll stay quiet,” Palo said, looking at Vesemir. “And we’ll be careful of people questioning. We’d like to know what's happening, though.”

“Good man,” Vesemir gave him an approving nod.

\---

Palo watched the skinny cat wash its paws as it sat in the ray of sunlight on the kitchen sill. She was a small thing, extremely thin. Probably not much of a mouser. Still, she was at least something normal and familiar to look at while the older witcher and the girl set out about boiling water and laying different jars of poultices out.

His bones ached. Especially his right leg. It had a nasty break during the last war when King Henselt's father forced all able-bodied men into service. Palo got lucky; he got hurt early enough and badly enough that they sent him away before the battles started for real. It gave him time to hide what valuables he had in the woods before opportunists could come looting. When the armies came too close, he took his wife and three small children and they all spent four solid months living high in the mountains in a shack he built despite the broken leg. That was probably why it never healed completely, but it saved his wife and kids so he rarely complained.

Looking around now, seeing the demon city appear from nowhere and being dragged out of hiding by its minions, it made Palo worry about dark times coming again. He’d seen the terrible things that happened with war, and had lived through the hardships it took to survive. His family would be able to do it again, Palo was sure. 

But he didn’t want them to need to. He much preferred them safe and tucked away in their little village. Vesemir was right to worry about news spreading around, but Mika was right, too. They deserved to know what had landed at their doorsteps. Palo tried not to stew over what would happen to them if they survived this week. If they couldn't hunt in the mountains, Palo had no idea what would happen to their family. Hunting and mountains was all he knew.

When the younger witcher, Lambert, came into the kitchen, he was wearing only clean pants and socks. He carried his swords sheathed in one hand, though, and held a tiny bottle in the other. Hell, but the man looked like he’d been beaten and mauled. Palo winced in sympathy at the look of the bruised ribs and sluggishly bleeding gashes down his arm and shoulder.

There were scars on his chest and arms, evidence of wounds that would kill normal men. He was built like a warrior, with powerful muscles stretched over a strong bone structure. Definitely a man that Palo wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley. Even the older witcher, Vesemir, was built like he could wrestle a bear and win, though he looked kinder and less volatile than Lambert. There was an anger about Lambert, something that spoke of a sour temper. Maybe that was just the injuries talking, though.

Ever present was the wolf medallion around Lambert’s neck. The sign of a witcher.

The bruises and nasty scrapes that covered his upper body were many and varied, some still with wooden splinters sticking out of them. In addition to the badly lacerated arm, there was a deep cut over the ribs. One of Lambert’s pant legs looked a little extra padded at the thigh, and Palo suspected that he already took care of at least one wound there.

Lambert sat down with a groan. “My room. _My room_.” He set his swords under the bench he’d sat on and rubbed his face. “How the fuck does a horse get in the second story of a fortress anyways?”

“Teleport,” the woman said. Ciri, Palo thought he heard her name was. 

“Since when do we have a teleporting horse in our keep?” Lambert grumbled. He didn’t even flinch when Ciri took hold of the first long splinter with a pair of pliers and pulled it out, obviously not trying to be gentle.

She threw the bloody, finger length piece of wood into an empty bowl, and then leaned in to grab another one.

“At least try not to take a pound of flesh with those splinters, eh?” Lambert complained, but he didn’t move away from her rough treatment.

“Where did you get all of these?” she asked as she worked. Slowly but surely the pile of splinters was adding up.

“Ugg, the night from hell,” he grumbled back at her, barely even wincing as she picked at him.

For some reason, that made both Ciri and Vesemir laugh.

“Tell me what the fuck is going on here first,” Lambert said sourly.

That basically killed whatever humor the other two had mustered up. 

“Geralt got hurt,” Ciri said quietly. Her face and hands stayed busy looking over Lambert’s torn hide, and her voice didn’t betray anything of what she was feeling.

Geralt of Rivia was a name Palo knew well. Even if it weren’t for all the stories and songs, the White Wolf was one of the witchers that stopped by Goose Landing every fall and spring. In fact, all of the faces here looked familiar, but oftentimes Palo only heard about the visits second hand from Vanessa.

“Hurt. We all get hurt.” Lambert frowned.

“Some asshole decided Geralt needed to be hunted down and killed, and gathered up a small army to do it,” Vesemir said. A bitter snarl twisted his features, and Palo was extremely glad that he wasn’t the focus of the old witcher’s ire. “Geralt’s alive, but barely.”

“Shit.” Then Lambert’s eyes got wider. “_Shit_, Dracula.”

Palo wondered who Dracula was, perhaps another witcher? Or an enemy?

“Yes,” Ciri sighed. “Furious doesn’t cover it. Eskel calmed him down before the rampage hit a city, but the damage is still…horrifying.”

“Where?” Lambert asked.

“Know about that huge forest on the south west part of Temeria?” Vesemir asked idly, cleaning Lambert’s arm with a cloth covered in a harshly smelling liquid.

“Brokilon? Of course. Good hunting there, lots of bounties.” Lambert winced a tiny bit as Ciri pulled out a particularly stubborn splinter. 

“Not Brokilon proper, that was mostly untouched, but the lesser forest on the Temeria side,” Vesemir said, shaking his head.

“Hard to say how much is gone, given the black miasma covering the area as of a couple days ago. I haven’t had a chance to scry to see if it’s still there, but I kind of doubt it,” Ciri said. She moved Lambert’s arm around, looking for more bits of wood. “I think Dracula started on the eastern edge of the forest, and then made his way into Temeria proper.”

“He killed everyone there?” Lambert asked.

Ciri shook her head. “He burned the land down to bare bedrock.”

Palo blanched at the thought of it. Battle magics were terrible things, and destruction on that kind of scale was petrifying. Who even had that much power?

“And the people living there?” Lambert asked quietly.

With that, Ciri actually looked slightly relieved. “As far as we can tell, there weren’t any humans in that area. Aside from the ones hunting Geralt, anyways. And after that, Dracula moved so slowly that people could see him coming and run. I _think_ the destruction was limited to just the border forest and Geralt’s hunters.”

“Even that would be a blow,” Vesemir said quietly. “People live off that land, hunt and harvest there.”

This was exactly what Palo feared when the castle walls appeared. Even if nothing else happened, how would he feed his family if the mountains were closed to him?

“Considering Dracula didn’t even look tired after destroying that forest, they should be grateful to be alive at all,” Ciri said. 

For a moment it looked like Vesemir might say something back, but he visibly checked himself. Instead, he reapplied more of the pungent smelling liquid to his cloth and continued to wipe up the ragged wounds on Lambert’s arm. 

“Alright, so Dracula got pissed and Eskel calmed him down,” Lambert said after a moment, clearly trying to urge the narrative on.

“Alucard got Geralt out and got him help in time to save his life,” Ciri continued looking at a loose flap of skin on Lambert’s arm. Based on how it looked, the skin was probably scraped away during some kind of fall. “I will have to cut it off. It’ll heal up faster and better that way,” she said finally.

Lambert sighed and pulled out a small, sharp looking knife and passed it to her.

“You have the worst bedside manner ever,” Lambert complained.

“Quit your bitching,” she said with a smirk. “Anyways. Eskel, Dracula, and I went to visit Geralt and Alucard for a bit. I left Eskel there to keep them company, and I came back to talk to Triss. Maybe figure out who started all this mess. Dracula…” She looked back and forth between Lambert and Vesemir, and then shrugged. “I have no idea where he went. But a few hours later, this happened.”

She waved a hand at the window. 

“I haven’t seen him at all,” Vesemir added. “Nor have I seen any of the others around. Night is the first demon to show up since the city appeared.”

“The horse in the courtyard is a demon?!” Mika exclaimed.

On one hand, Palo kind of wanted to smack his kid for being so gods be damned _obvious_ about his shock. On the other hand, _there was a demon in the courtyard._

Vesemir and Ciri both shrugged, but Lambert looked at him with something close to sympathy. 

“She’s Dracula’s horse. There’s a reason I told you to keep away from her,” Vesemir said offhandedly. 

“She also is the only way to get in and out of here, as far as I can tell,” Ciri added. When Vesemir just raised an eyebrow at her, she continued. “The castle has wards on it. Powerful ones. No way a regular portal in is going to work. Triss and I didn’t even scry, we just did a sand divination to check out the energy patterns and it _still_ lit her table on fire. I portaled to Goose Landing and borrowed a horse. Vanessa helped me out there. Henselt’s mages are already in town, looking around, asking questions. It’s said they’re hunting witchers, no doubt because they realized the castle showed up right on top of Kaer Morhen.” She gave Lambert a significant look. 

Palo realized with a start that the girl wasn’t a witcher, despite her looks and weapons. She was a sorceress.

“So that’s why I was being hunted.” Lambert sighed. “I’d just finished up a hunt yesterday. Got my bounty and went to drink it off. My whore tried to poison me, guards broke into my room, then I got chased out of the city in my bare feet. They lamed my horse and kept chasing me right out into the woods. With dogs,” he snarled and tapped his fingers on the table top. “Then, just when I thought I’d lost them, I ran into a fucking bear.”

“The winter came early,” Palo said without thinking. “A lot of the young bears had to go to sleep before they built up enough fat. They have been waking up all over.”

“Just my luck,” Lambert grumbled. 

By this time, Vesemir had started carefully settling the ripped up flesh of Lambert’s arm into as even and natural a way as he could. It was odd that he wasn’t stitching it up, or even binding it, but at this point in the conversation, Palo wasn’t willing to make any assumptions on what witchers could and couldn’t do, or why. 

“So,” Vesemir said thoughtfully. “Dracula is missing, as are his servants. The walls seem to be locked up.” He raised a questioning eyebrow to Ciri, and she nodded back in agreement. “There’s no magic in or out, except Night’s traveling. And we have two guests.” He turned to look at Palo and Mika. 

Palo thought of his pretty little daughter-in-law, nearly ready to give birth. He looked to his son’s bruised face. Then he thought about the king’s mages and soldiers wandering through Goose Landing. 

“This…this Dracula,” Palo said hesitantly. “Would he bring war to this land? Is that why the walls and towers showed up?”

“I don’t think he wants to,” Ciri said thoughtfully. “If he wanted to start a war, he would have done so already.”

“He did just annex a fair bit of land,” Vesemir murmured and started to wrap a thin piece of white cloth around Lambert’s arm. It didn’t look like any bandaging Palo had ever seen before.

“True,” Ciri admitted. “But he could have done so much worse. He didn’t make any additional attacks, after he took care of the hunters anyways. I think if he’d wanted to kill everyone off, he would have just done so. Personally. The castle here seems like more a defensive measure.”

“Henselt is not a patient or forgiving man,” Lambert said with a frown. 

“Dracula is even less so,” Ciri pointed out. 

“We have to expect Henselt will send some of his forces,” Vesemir said. “He probably doesn’t understand what he is dealing with here, so he’ll send limited forces first, just to feel out the defenses and gather more information.”

“I overheard the people who were hunting me saying they needed me alive for questioning.” Lambert tapped his fingers against the table again. “All of us Wolf witchers are accounted for now, but I kinda feel bad for those from the other schools who get caught up in this.”

“Henselt is fond of military intelligence. It’s very likely that it was his men who were hunting you,” Ciri said. How she knew this much about the king’s personality, Palo couldn’t guess. But she was a sorceress, so maybe she actually knew him. “But as soon as word spreads, other powers will gain interest, too. If they haven’t heard already.”

Both witchers sighed at that. 

“The troops that Henselt will send...what do you think the chances are of Dracula just letting them languish in front of his walls?” Palo asked. 

Ciri, Lambert, and Vesemir all snorted in amusement. 

“At this point I don’t know what’s better. Dracula sitting quietly and letting the ever increasing waves of attacks come, or him making a show of power and negotiating some kind of peace.” Vesemir rubbed his face. “I would like to avoid a forty year siege.”

“At some point, he’s going to have to talk to his new neighbors,” Ciri said. “Whether that’s before or after he decimates the troops at his gates, well, I suppose we’ll find out.” She glanced over to Palo and Mika, perhaps suddenly seeing how worried they were. “I don’t know if this will spill over to your town. I hope not. And I think as long as Geralt lives and is well, he’ll be inclined towards keeping the matter contained.”

That was not as resounding a reassurance as Palo had hoped it would be, but it was better than nothing. 

“All of this, because someone attacked the White Wolf?” Mika asked quietly.

“Yes,” Ciri said. “Geralt’s lover is not only possessive but also very powerful.” She pointed out the window. “He did this in a fit of temper.”

That simple statement boggled the mind. Palo closed his eyes for a moment and prayed. He prayed for his family, and his town, and the rest of the kingdoms. A being with that much power and that much spite was beyond a man at that point. He was a force of nature, and when faced with something like that, sometimes prayer was all one could do.

“Do you think Dracula would let the villagers inside the walls?” Ciri asked suddenly. 

“Or extend the walls to cover the town if needed?” Vesemir mused. “Perhaps. If Geralt or Alucard asked him. He hates humans, but he would do much for those two.”

Hates _humans_?

“What can we do? How can we help?” Palo asked, strengthening his resolve. He was once a soldier, and he was still a father. Soon to be grandfather. He was not the kind of man who would sit and cower when faced with impending doom. On the grand scheme of things, he was a small man, with little power beyond that of his own homestead. But he knew damn well just how much difference one or two people could make. 

The others at the table looked at him in surprise. Even the cat at the fireplace perked her ears at him. 

He gave them a sardonic smirk. “You witchers and sorceresses handle large matters. Kings and armies. But us towns folk are more useful than you might think. How can we stop war from coming to our lands?”

“You’re right,” Vesemir said. “Common farm and woods folk shouldn’t be dismissed. We of Kaer Morhen learned that to our great sorrow many years ago.” He took a breath and drew down his brows in thought. “Keep the king’s men away from any witchers you find, or any trace of us. The more he harrasses us, the more it will just piss Dracula off. Don’t antagonize the demons. Defend yourselves if you must, but if you see a demon and it’s not being hostile, let it be. If it truly becomes a nuisance, perhaps we can work out a way for one of us witchers to handle the problem.”

Palo and Mika nodded. The thought of demons running around unchecked was a disturbing one, but Palo was far more terrified of outright war rolling over his little village. 

“Gather what information you can,” Ciri added. “Listen to the mages. Sometimes they talk as if common folk can’t hear them. I’ll stop by from time to time to exchange news. We can keep each other updated.”

That made Palo smirk. The sorceress wanted a spy network, did she? Little did she know how quickly word could spread through the distant towns. His daughters lived in neighboring villages, and it was normal for him to visit them at least once a month. He knew the same went for some of the others in town. It would be child’s play to just happen to pass on bits of information about Henselt’s men as they went.

He had to wonder, would it be worth it? Henselt was his king, and Kaedwen his country. This Dracula fellow had done nothing but show up and cause havoc.

But the witchers were locals. They’d been coming through for years, spending coin, spreading tales, and keeping the woods safe for men like Palo. This Dracula fellow, temperamental though he was and terrifying to boot, apparently was just protecting them. 

Or throwing fits over them getting hurt. Same thing. 

“You’ll do what you can to keep our town safe?” he asked finally.

“I will try, but I can make no promises,” Vesemir said. 

“Just wait ‘til Geralt hears the town is in danger,” Lambert groaned. “He _loves_ to meddle.”

Ciri rolled her eyes, but nodded. “I swear, it’s like he goes out of his way to find stuff like this.”

_Well that’s promising,_ Palo thought with vague amusement. He’d always thought the songs of the White Wolf were likely exaggerated, but perhaps they weren’t. 

“And realistically, I can’t see Alucard just standing by if the people start getting hurt,” Ciri added.

Lambert sniggered quietly.

“Dracula is going to be so fucked when they learn of this stunt of his.”

Ciri covered her mouth to stifle a snicker, and Vesemir just sighed and shook his head. 

“We would appreciate your help,” Vesemir said, looking at Palo again. “And we’ll do what we can to watch out for your town, and the other little towns around us.”

“Deal.” Palo smiled at him. It wasn’t quite relief that flooded him, but perhaps just a lessening of anxiety. At least _someone_ with power was looking out for them, and that was better than what they had started with. “We do need to get home, though.”

“I will ask Night if she’s willing to carry you both out of here,” Ciri said getting up from her seat. “Do we have any carrots or apples left?”

“Carrots are in the basket on the right,” Vesemir said, pointing towards what had to be a larder.

“Actually,” Lambert said slowly. “Try jam. Maybe raw meat basted in jam. Horses love jam. And Night is…horse-like.”

_Horse-like_. Palo hadn’t seen Night up close yet, but he was starting to seriously wonder if he wanted to. He couldn’t imagine a horse who would want meat as a snack.

“We’ll try both.” Ciri wandered over to go pillage the larder.

“Alright, Lambert,” Vesemir said patting the other witchers shoulder. “I got all of those that I could. Get the Swallow now.”

Lambert nodded and grabbed the small bottle that he’d brought in with him. He pulled the cork out with his teeth, gave it a sniff, and downed the contents in one go. Palo heard stories about the potions witchers used and the mystical abilities they gave them. He never knew how much of that was truth. Now he could see, right in front of his eyes, as the ripped up skin started knitting itself together. He couldn't look away from the tiny tendrils of skin growing and reaching across each wound, creating fresh scar tissue which rapidly turned into pink, healthy skin. There would be a scar no doubt, but the wounds were healing at unfathomable speeds.

“I’m glad you’re here and safe,” Vesemir said to Lambert, and then he stood up. “I’m going to go brush Night. Ciri, bring Mika and Palo out when you’re ready.”

\---

Orlaith panted, staring at the newly created glowing orb with an angry demon ensnared inside it. Normally, this sort of entrapment wouldn’t be a problem but she was still weakened from the move. The fact that Dracula was still asleep, cutting her off from her biggest source of power, wasn’t helping.

This wouldn’t have been an issue before Dracula’s centuries-long sleep. A day or two of rest, even after something as drastic as a full castle move, wouldn’t be any cause for alarm. But then Dracula had been taken from them, stabbed by Alucard’s blade and forced into slumber for five hundred years.

Now, the demons inhabiting the castle had gotten antsy the moment they realized Dracula was truly asleep. His bedroom was closed, inaccessible to anyone, even Orlaith. Not that many demons were allowed there, anyways. Once in a while, Dracula gave specific permission to be served there. Regardless, his bedroom was never _cut off_ from the rest of them, like it was now. 

The demons in the castle were on a hair trigger. Half of them were afraid that Dracula wouldn't wake up for another five hundred years. The other half had more immediate concerns.

Those bound to the Lord of Hell were dependant on him for their power. It was why the vampires, succubi, and incubi didn't need to feed on the local population; they pulled energy from him directly. Now that he was so deeply asleep, they couldn’t do that. This meant that they would soon start slipping into “dog eat dog” mentality as their baser instincts began taking over. There were also those more enterprising souls eager to grab some power for themselves, thinking that Dracula would no longer come back. 

Orlaith had to sit down on the floor and rest for a moment. Ever aware of the eyes watching from the darkness, she did so primly, evenly. As if there was nothing wrong at all. 

This particular unruly demon was dealt with, imprisoned in an orb to be stockpiled for later use. But being cut off from Dracula as she was meant that Orlaith’s control of the castle and its inhabitants was weakening daily. She didn’t even have enough energy to take her normal form; she was still wandering around as a tiny black cat. Ensnaring this demon before it could cause more issues was possible only because nobody expected her to go straight for the final solution.

She stared at the shimmering orb and considered how to get it back to the main holding room. 

This wouldn’t do. Orlaith knew that she was in no condition to hold the castle together for long. She needed Dracula. She needed somebody to wake him before the humans beyond the wall or the demons inside it pushed things too far.

Alucard had awoken Dracula from his last sleep, though part of that was likely because Alucard was the one to put Dracula to sleep in the first place. It was one of the reasons that most of the denizens of the castle despised Alucard. He’d taken away their lord. Orlaith wasn’t immune to the distaste, either, especially not after all the time Alucard had spent breaking in and attempting to kill their master. 

It was looking like he might be her only option, though. 

He was in Castlevania City, along with the witcher. Likely surrounded by humans, too. The remains of Dracula’s castle there were infested with them. Since the castle proper still had points of connection with the ruins in Castlevania City, she could feel the humans teeming around the edges of her awareness of that area. It wouldn’t do to bring attention to herself. Nor did she have the energy in her weakened state to go in person.

She’d have to send someone. Preferable someone who could blend in with the humans, or at least hide from them very well. Someone who knew how to track Eskel or Geralt, since Orlaith knew from experience that finding Alucard wouldn’t be as easy. He knew how to mask his presence remarkably well.

The two succubi that had slept with Eskel were both the highest of the succubi in the castle, powerful enough to shift their appearance to match the expectations of people around them. It wasn’t quite mind reading, but it was close enough for her purposes. They were strong and adept at dealing with unexpected issues.

Orlaith closed her eyes and reached for that thread connecting her to the demons in the castle and pulled at the one leading to Iga. She was the oldest and most reliable one. She was one of the demons that chose to go to sleep when they realized Dracula wasn’t coming back the first time. 

Orlaith felt it when Iga came awake with a start, waking from the forced sleep Orlaith ordered most of the denizens into during the move. It was a pity that Orlaith couldn’t keep them all asleep, but that would neither be wise nor feasible. Someone needed to guard the castle, and some areas could not be left untenanted. 

_Meet me in the portal room._

Iga sent back the feeling of assent, plus a mix of confusion and curiosity. 

Luckily, Orlaith still had enough energy to travel through the walls to get to her destination, the castle’s portal room. If she’d had to stay a cat the whole way it would have taken forever to walk anywhere. 

It took Iga a bit longer to meet her there. She wasn’t so lucky as to be able to travel so swiftly. Orlaith nudged the right doors open at the right time, though, to speed her travel. Too much time had passed already, and it was worth the effort to get this errand done quickly.

“Steward,” Iga said with a bow. “How may I serve?”

_I need you to go to Castlevania City. Find Eskel and Geralt. With them should be Alucard. Alucard must return to the castle to wake Dracula._

With every word, Iga’s eyebrows raised a little more. In the end, she nodded. “I can do this. Should I return with Alucard, or stay there?”

No doubt the succubus was wondering if she had time to stop for a meal. Eskel was a favorite of the succubi who stayed at Kaer Morhen. He and the other witcher there fed them so very well that Orlaith had put them on a rotation, lest any one of them become too overstuffed. Iga always stayed, though, as the highest powered succubus among them. 

_I leave that up to Alucard to decide. He has a better grasp of what is happening in that realm,_ Orlaith said after a moment of thought. Dracula had ordered everything to be locked down, but this was an extenuating circumstance. Much like how Orlaith had sent out Night to fetch Lambert. 

Iga nodded respectfully. “I obey.” 

With that, Orlaith turned to one of the doors, and opened a portal to Castlevania City. It would lead Iga to one of the map rooms, and from there Iga would be able to find her way. Once she’d found Alucard, Geralt would be able to use the wolf portal to bring Alucard back. 

Hopefully, Dracula would wake soon after. 

Once Iga stepped through, Orlaith dropped the portal and heaved a sigh. There was so much to do, and she had so little power to do it all with. This body was tiny and weak and the castle was still barely grafted onto the land around it. She missed how deep the roots had grown in their previous world. 

There was nothing to be done about it, though. This was their new home, and she would make the best of it. 

On the bright side, there was a lovely warm fire at the kitchen in Kaer Morhen with strong, fit witchers to watch. She was very happy with the fact the witchers didn’t seem to be overly concerned with modesty. That made for nice entertainment. 

Despite his occasional rudeness, Vesemir fed her the most delightful meats, and his tendency to scratch her on the head was more than welcome, too. She could taste his power. The fact that he was older than the other witchers definitely couldn’t be seen when he stripped off the layers of his armor. He was as strong as any of them, and Orlaith found she approved of the distinguished look that age had imparted on his face. Orlaith couldn’t remember anyone taking such liberties with her before. It was…odd. But not bad. 

Having rested long enough, she swished her tail and headed back towards Kaer Morhen. 

There were witchers to keep watch over and rumors to gather while she waited.

\---

Matt took a bit of a detour on his way to work the next day. There was a bookshop he’d noticed during his commute, and he decided to stop by and get some books for his boss’ friends. He knew how boring keeping watch could be, and any kind of entertainment would be welcome.

It would have been easy to stop by a strip mall or something like it, but he chose the small bookshop because he immensely disliked the impersonal chain shops. Everything was sterile and so false in those places. It felt much better to get a basket off the small table near the door and see what oddities could be found. Little places like this always had unique things.

As he browsed the shelves, he tried to get at least one book out of every category that caught his eye. 

He got The Short History of Castlevania City, Popular Myths and Folklore, a collection of poetry, some tome on popular medicinal plants, and a few crime stories. When he was passing by a section of colorful bodice ripper romances, he got two of those too. Who could resist a title like The Blind and Buttonless Horseman? He was about to head to the counter when he saw the collection of Alucard the Vampire novels. He _had_ to get those, too.

Just as he was getting in the queue to check out, a young man with a bunch of textbooks slipped in front of him. Matt sighed internally and resigned himself to wait a couple minutes longer. 

Then he got a text from one of his guys at the hospital, Keith.

_When are you gonna get in?_

Matt frowned at the message. They knew when he was coming in to work. 

_Same time as scheduled? Why?_ he sent back.

There was a minute of lag time, but since they were all on the same network he could see the three little dots that meant Keith was typing at him. 

_That scarred dude that Ciri brought is creepy as fuck. He keeps staring at us and tossing his knife. I don’t know what he said to Aiden while they were both guarding the room door, but it’s got him asking about if our vests stop blades as well as bullets._

Matt covered his face with his hand and sighed. Given what he knew of Eskel, he didn’t think that the man was being intimidating on purpose. Eskel just seemed like one of those guys who looked menacing all the time. 

He couldn’t rule it out, though. 

Images of all the damn knives, the scars, and the spooky eyes flashed through Matt’s head. Yeah, that was a tough call. 

_I’m on my way now_, he sent back, glad he was already in line. Maybe he could write these books off on his taxes as work expenses. 

By the time he got to the hospital, most of his guys were giving him relieved looks. He headed straight down to Geralt’s room, with the bag of books in hand.

Sure enough, Eskel was sitting there outside the door, flipping a _fucking dagger_ in his hand like it was a butter knife. The thing moved so quickly that it was hard to keep track of the edge. Eskel wasn’t even looking at it. He was staring at Matt as he walked up, his eyes slightly hooded in a way that reminded Matt of a predator stalking something from the bushes. The way the light from the hall hit his eyes made them shine a little, too, and that was not fucking helping. 

“Matt,” Eskel said with a nod. “Welcome back.”

The man’s voice was always a low growl, likely from whatever had cut out his throat and left that massive scar across it. Matt wasn’t easily intimidated, but it was still a bit unsettling to listen to, even for him.

“Eskel.” Matt nodded back in greeting. Then he turned to look at Rich, who was stationed at the other side of the door. “Go on. I’ve got this.”

The look he got back from Rich very clearly said, _oh thank fuck_, and then Rich was up out of the chair and down the hall. Still walking casual, but a quick casual at best. Matt had to wonder what Eskel said to him. 

“Everything going okay?” Matt asked, sitting down in Rich’s newly empty seat.

Eskel shrugged, but paused the knife show for a moment. “Same old, same old.” 

The taciturn answer was about as expected. When Geralt was awake, Eskel talked and joked with him like the family they obviously were. But as soon as Geralt fell asleep, Eskel was a very quiet man. 

“Did you get any sleep?” Matt asked, gauging the signs of tiredness in Eskel’s face.

Eskel hummed at him, but shook his head. “No. Not since Kaer Morhen. But I got Trevor to get some rest,” he added looking pleased. “It’s why I’m out here. Making sure nobody wakes him up.”

As happy as Matt was to hear that his boss was taking a much needed break, he had to pause to frown. “Kaer Morhen. That’s your home, right?”

Eskel nodded. “As close as we get to one, yes.”

Matt shoved that ominous answer aside, and focused on the question at hand. “You’ve been here for days, though.” He counted in his head. “That’s been, what, three days? You haven’t slept in _three days_?”

“Mmhmm.” Eskel nodded again, and went back to flipping his knife. His gaze wandered up the hall, pausing at each guard stationed and staring a hole into them. “Four. Ciri brought me here in the evening. I was up all day before we left.” Eskel shrugged in a ‘what can you do’ gesture. “I’ll get some meditation in later.”

It was true that Eskel didn’t look particularly tired. His hand on his knife was steady and sure, and there was only a faint hint of purple under his eyes. Who even knew how much the guy slept regularly anyways, what with all the obvious enhancements. 

So Matt kept his peace, and resolved to bring it up to his boss later if needs be. 

His comm cracked in his ear.

“Boss, we got a stranger at the elevator. Female. Blond. Late twenties. Hot.”

Strangers were usually filtered out on the lower floor. Ever since their first day here, each time somebody got through meant that more insanity was happening.

“We got a name?” he asked into the comm. He might as well ask Eskel about whoever this was while he was still sitting here. 

There was a pause.

“Iga. No last name. Says she needs to see Eskel, Geralt, and ‘our master’.” 

Matt could actually hear the air quotes to go with that. 

Before he could say anything more, Eskel perked up and said, “Iga is here?”

“There’s a woman who says her name is Iga,” Matt hedged. He wasn’t willing to accept someone's identity on name only and besides that, how the hell did Eskel know that at all?

“Blond, beautiful. Good handful at the chest and ass. Walks like sex personified, and smiles like she’s already imagining fucking you?” Eskel asked.

“I didn’t get a description like that,” Matt said pointedly. “But Peter did say she was hot.”

That caused Eskel to smirk and stare off in the distance in a way that screamed nostalgic satisfaction. “Mmmhmm. Bring her down to me. If it’s not Iga, I’ll handle it. If it is, she’s here for a very important reason and we shouldn’t delay.”

Then Eskel frowned.

“Unless she’s just hungry,” he added.

With that nonsensical answer, Matt pursed his lips. This woman’s eating habits aside, he was more worried about Eskel saying he’d ‘handle it’, and he was very afraid that ‘handling it’ involved body bags.

“You identify her, and we’ll handle her if it’s not the person you’re thinking of,” Matt said finally. The last thing he needed was a goddamn murder in the hall.

“Suit yourself.” Eskel shrugged. 

Matt turned on his comm and said, “Search her, bring her down to the room.”

“Yes, sir!”

...That was a far more enthusiastic answer than he expected. 

A few minutes later he realized why. The woman walking down the hall towards them, with Keith and Rich following behind, was a goddamn knockout. 

Perfect blond hair teased into luscious curls that trailed over her shoulders. Her lips were painted dark purple-red, and her eyes lit up a lovely honey brown color against the dark eyeliner around them. The black dress she wore was floor length and skin tight, showing off without a shadow of a doubt that not only was she not armed, but she wasn’t wearing underwear either. Every curve of her figure made the fabric of her dress shine red-purple, a perfect match for her lipstick. 

Briefly, Matt wondered why both the guards flanking her were flushed. Granted, the dress clung to her body in amazing ways, but surely that wasn’t enough to get them so hot under the collar.

As soon as she got close enough she smiled slow and sweet at Eskel. 

“Eskel,” she purred, walking right up to him and trailing a hand down his arm. “Eyra and I have missed you so much.” The pout on her lips was as perfect as the rest of her, and Matt had to swallow against his suddenly dry throat. 

Then she leaned towards Eskel, stretching down to kiss his lips lightly, and Matt saw just why his men were so flustered. Her long hair parted and hung down, showing off the fact that her whole back was naked from the neck to just the swell of her ass. The deep neckline ended just after showing the start of her crack and the amazing curve of her rear.

“Hi, Iga,” Eskel said with a warm smile, trailing his hand down her jaw. “You look lovely as usual.”

“Always a charmer,” she murmured, and leaned into his palm a bit. “And such kind hands. Strong and sure.” 

Now Matt was starting to blush. It wasn’t even what she said, but how she said it. Her tone of voice, the low, throaty rumble of each word made it quite viscerally clear that she was talking about sex.

“Gotta treat a lady right,” Eskel said, still smiling. “Have you come here to see Trevor Belmont?” he asked, with an odd emphasis on the name. 

Matt frowned. There was something Eskel just told the woman; a message he passed that Matt couldn’t decipher.

She stood up, but left her hand still touching Eskel’s arm. “I have. I have been sent by his father’s Steward. There’s unrest. He needs to come back immediately.”

“Shit,” Eskel cursed softly. The knife in his hand disappeared so fast that Matt couldn’t quite catch where it was hidden. Somewhere in his pants, probably. Eskel stood up and knocked on the door. He waited, listening for a moment. 

Iga looked over at Matt, as if sensing his interest, and smiled at him.

“Do you not trust me yet?” she said in a low, throaty purr. She stepped closer and reached out a hand to touch his tie with just the tip of her finger. “You could search me yourself, if that would help?” Her voice was so soft that it was just above a whisper. “There are many rooms here,” she added. “I’m sure we could find a way for you to…make sure…I carry no hidden weapons.”

Matt was honestly wrong footed. He was attracted to women, and he was still alive, which meant he was interested. Any breathing, straight man would be. This woman was uniquely sexy, and her molten brown eyes just made her more alluring.

Matt looked over at Eskel and thought about the familiar way that Iga greeted him, making it no secret those two were lovers or at least in some kind of intimate relationship at some point. The witcher only rolled his eyes and smirked, but didn’t seem jealous.

Something must have suddenly occurred to Eskel, because his gaze turned calculating. He looked Matt up and down. It was clearly some kind of evaluation, but Matt didn’t get the feeling it was a sexual one. There was a coldness to that look that made the hair of the back of Matt’s neck prickle.

“Iga,” Eskel said after a minute. “This is Matt. Whether or not he decides to enjoy your company is, of course, up to him.” Eskel paused to raise a knowing eyebrow at Matt. “But if he does, keep in mind that Ciri has an interest in him. Run him through his paces. Make sure he can keep up.”

Blazing heat flooded Matt’s face and his jaw dropped. 

“Geralt’s daughter, hmm?” Iga looked Matt up and down. “Still, some practice could be useful. Would hate for her to be disappointed.”

Matt sputtered for a moment, raising his hands as if to ward her off. He glanced around, for what he wasn't sure. Help, maybe. The look Keith and Rich gave him was one of raw envy.

Before he could say anything, he heard a faint, “Come in,” from the room. 

Eskel headed straight in. Iga followed, but slowly, dragging her finger down his tie one last time before walking away.

After a second or two, Matt snapped his mouth shut and looked to Keith and Rich. Cautious of being overheard, he stepped closer to them and pitched his voice low.

“No. I’m not going to. And _no_, neither can any of you. The last thing any of us need is to get involved with Belmont Sr.’s...lady employees.” He raised his eyebrows at them and gave them a look.

“You noticed how she called him her master?” Keith said, the blush slowly dying on his cheeks.

“I did,” Matt said with a grimace. 

Belmont Sr. seemed like the definition of Bad News, and as disgusting as it was, Matt wouldn’t put it past him to deal in human trafficking. 

He couldn’t imagine his boss being okay with that, but it was also obvious that Trevor would quietly acquiesce to anything his father wanted. The phantom worries of domestic violence came back to haunt him, and Matt thought of that scar on Trevor’s chest. Then he thought about the vaguely cultish vibes he was getting from Eskel and Geralt, and how Belmont Sr. easily took control of any given situation. 

Iga looked like she was willing, but looks could be deceiving. 

“I’ll try to talk to her if I can,” Matt said finally. “In the meantime, hands off. Spread the word.”

“Yes, sir,” Keith nodded.

\---

Alucard looked up from shaking off his jacket, and blinked in surprise at Iga entering the room just behind Eskel.

“Iga?” he asked, only registering her skintight dress after a few moments. 

Iga caught his eye and inclined her head, enough to show respect but shallow enough to show her dislike. Alucard was more than aware that most of the castle denizens hated him more or less. The higher ones, like Iga, were better than others at hiding their distaste.

“Steward sent me,” she said, looking around the room. Her eyes lit up on Geralt in all his patchwork glory on the bed. “Geralt. You look awful.”

“I’m aware,” Geralt said ruefully. It was true, he still looked like hell. His skin was pale and exhaustion still dragged at him. But the bandages were off of the side of his face---the cuts there were shallow and had healed relatively quickly---and most of the other damage was covered by his blankets.

“What does Orlaith need?” Alucard asked, getting the conversation back on track. Whatever the reason for Iga being here, it had to be desperately urgent for Orlaith to ask Alucard for help.

She turned to give him a serious look. “Master has fallen asleep. He is locked in his room, and none can reach him, nor can we feed on his power. Orlaith has been weakened. Soon she will be unable to contain the castle inhabitants. You must come and wake him.”

Each word fell like a hammer to Alucard’s heart. What had his father done? What could possibly drained him into so deep a sleep that his blood and power no longer sustained the castle’s day to day needs?

“Are his power levels that low?” he asked, worried.

“He’s cut off from us,” Iga said. “His power is there, it’s simply inaccessible.”

Before he could answer, Matt walked in. Alucard stared at him for a moment, his thoughts flying through his head a mile a minute.

“Matt,” he said. “We need to move Geralt to the tower, as quickly as can be done. Contact John and make it happen.”

“Yes, sir.” Matt turned right around and left. John was already working on getting things set up, but they hadn’t planned on actually moving until later in the day, or perhaps the next morning. 

But now they couldn’t afford to wait. Alucard had to go, and he couldn’t leave Geralt in as vulnerable a place as the hospital. The tower would be safer. 

Still, Alucard hated to leave him.

“We're moving?” Eskel murmured.

“Yes.” Alucard looked at Geralt. “I need you safe before I can go. Father would want that, too.” He flexed his fingers in frustration. 

“I can open the portal for you,” Geralt said trying to pull himself up into a sitting position. Eskel was by his side in a heartbeat, flattening him down not very gently and keeping him flat by pressing his hand to Geralt’s shoulder.

“Easy there,” Eskel chided. “Don’t be so eager, you'll bust a stitch.”

Geralt looked at him sourly, but stayed still. 

“Once we get to the tower, I’ll take you up on that offer,” Alucard said softly. “You will stay in bed, though.” He gave Geralt a pointed look.

It almost seemed like Geralt would argue, but in the end he just frowned. Worry etched his forehead and he looked over to Iga.

“What happened to him?” Geralt asked.

“I don’t know much,” Iga said with a shrug. “Everybody got ordered into lockdown when the move started. Parts of the castle were supposed to be destroyed so most of us were ordered to specific areas. After the move, we all got put to sleep. Only some of the guards were left awake.”

“Move?” Geralt, Eskel, and Alucard said at the same time.

Iga looked at them, looking surprised.

“I thought you knew.”

“Apparently not,” Eskel cut in. “Care to explain for us?”

“Master moved the Castle from its home to your world.” She pointed to Eskel and Geralt. “He even managed to fit it all around your tiny keep,” she added, as if that last bit of news was the most important bit.

Alucard dropped his jaw, and he was not the only one. 

“The isn’t enough space for a castle as big as this whole city,” Eskel said, gesturing to the Castlevania city all around them.

“There is now,” Iga said with a smirk. “Things got imported.”

“Gods,” Geralt whispered, his eyes as round as saucers.

Alucard blinked hard. He knew it was possible to move the castle. After all, it had separated from what eventually became Castlevania City. But he was still boggled by the fact that his Father had done it. The amount of power required to move all of that mass alone was staggering.

But this was his Father. There was nothing beyond Dracula’s reach, if he desired it. 

Now was not the time to worry about it. They needed to be at the tower _yesterday_.

“That explains why I couldn’t reach the castle when I tried earlier. That and the wards he no doubt has on,” Alucard mused out loud, all while frantically thinking up contingency plans.

Iga nodded.

“Eskel, I will need you to stay here with Geralt. John will take care of the business side. I will give control of the guards to you. Iga, would you stay here as well, to help keep Geralt safe and help ease the way?”

Succubi had their own ways of influencing people. Their beauty and desirability made them very persuasive, and nobody expected a woman as pretty as Iga to be as dangerous as she was.

“It would be a pleasure,” Iga said, smirking towards Eskel. “Better by far than being locked up with everyone else.”

“Thank you,” Alucard said, relieved to have at least one more person watching Geralt.

After that, everyone was involved in a flurry of activity. 

Doctors looked over Geralt again while the nurses efficiently unhooked him from various devices and then hooked him to different, smaller ones. Some of them got put on the bed with Geralt, and others were hooked onto the bed frame.

Every second it took made Alucard itch, but he kept his impatience hidden as much as he could.

Several of Geralt’s regular nurses would be joining them at the tower, as well as his primary doctor, Dr. Miller. There were still staples and stitches that needed to come out and x-rays that needed to be done, but the equipment needed would be easy enough to obtain and set up in the personal levels of the tower. John was already working on it, organizing all the various things that would be needed to speed along Geralt’s recovery. 

Within a couple of hours, Geralt was ready for travel. Alucard’s security cleared their way to one of the sub basements, and from there they installed Geralt, Alucard, and Eskel into an ambulance. Just in case anyone was watching, Alucard’s private helicopter was on the roof, waiting to take off at a different time. A red herring for any who might seek to cause them mischief.

Going to the tower by car rather than air was not so coincidentally more convenient for Alucard as well, though he didn’t mention it. It was still daylight out, and being ensconced in the dark, windowless back of an ambulance was the perfect way for him to stay out of the damaging sunlight. 

This type of subterfuge was old hat to Alucard by now. Everyone in Alucard’s employ was well aware how much he liked to avoid interacting with, well, basically anyone. Most of the public likely thought that he flew everywhere, given how often his chopper was in the air. But more often than not Alucard simply had a nondescript luxury car for transport. 

The transfer went smoothly, much to Alucard’s vast relief. By the end of it Geralt was looking fairly peaked. For all his talk, he was still severely wounded and his energy waned fast. Alucard saw him drift off for a couple of minutes while in transit, lulled to sleep by the rocking of the ambulance.

The tower itself was much easier to navigate. There was a private elevator that went straight from the underground parking lot up to the private levels of the tower. Even though it was on the large side, it still felt crowded with Geralt’s bed, Alucard, Eskel, Iga and the nurses plus the doctor all in it. Alucard was relieved to be out of the confined space and into the huge corridors of his private suite. 

He’d changed a lot of the interior of the tower since he took over. The original marble floors, grand golden statues, and cold lighting were not at all his style. Instead of the ultra modern, glass and metal furniture, he had warm wood and soft carpets that reduced the echo. He also preferred warm, yellow light to the sharp blue or green lights Zobek had installed. The large garish gold statues had been removed. Some were replaced with subtler arts wrought in silver or blown glass, but many places were simply left empty; the open space suited Alucard’s taste much better. 

They took Geralt to Alucard’s private rooms there. John had arranged for the additional staff to stay in the level below that, but Alucard knew that being in a bed that carried his scent would set Geralt at ease better than any other comfort. It also stroked something primal inside of him to see Geralt wrapped up in his blankets, his scent. Marked in a way too subtle for most of the humans to understand. Iga and Eskel saw it. They knew the meaning behind the gesture. From the brief look on Matt’s face, he suspected something as well, though he quickly schooled the expression away. 

While the nurses and doctor settled Geralt into the bed, Alucard took a moment aside to talk with John, Matt, Eskel, and Iga. 

“Something unexpected has come up with my Father,” he said to John and Matt. They both straightened up, alarm bright in their features. “I must leave. Immediately. John, please handle the business affairs as you normally would. Continue on with that which we have discussed already.” John nodded, already typing furiously onto his phone. He was a good employee, and Alucard definitely needed to reward him for his excellent work during this whole incident. 

Alucard turned to look at Matt. This next part would be slightly trickier. 

“I can have a security detail ready in under an hour,” Matt said.

“Thank you, but there is no need.” Alucard could see Matt opening his mouth to protest. That man was truly loyal and very professional about his job. “My Father’s people will handle my transportation. Until I return, please listen to Eskel’s orders on how to keep Geralt safe.” 

“Sir,” Matt started, but then snapped his mouth shut with an unhappy frown.

“Cheer up,” Eskel said. “Unlike Geralt, I’m the reasonable one.”

The flat, unimpressed look Matt gave him made Alucard want to snicker, but he kept it to himself. “Eskel, please take Matt’s expertise into account. He knows this city well. You’ll have the final say on what goes, but remember that Matt and his people are very adept at dealing with the threats of Castlevania City.”

That seemed to mollify Matt somewhat, but he still gritted his teeth. After this trying time, Matt and his people probably deserved a bonus of some kind, too. It was true that Eskel was the reasonable one between him and Geralt, but that didn’t mean he was reasonable compared to regular humans. 

With that in mind, Alucard gave Eskel a look. “Eskel, please don’t break my people or my tower. I need both for later.”

“What trouble can we get into with Geralt confined to the bed?” Eskel said, spreading his arms.

“I could think of a few things,” Iga murmured with a laugh.

Alucard just stared at Eskel, unimpressed. “You talk as if I don’t know either of you.” 

“I promise to be good,” Eskel said finally, switching his glare from Iga to Alucard.

“I’m sure my father will be pleased to hear that,” Alucard nodded, and a light touch of pink dusted Eskel’s ears. “Iga, as usual, make sure to look at unthreatening as possible. You can spend time with my people if you wish, but not while they are on duty.” The last bit seemed to cheer the succubus up a lot and she even gave him a bit of an honest smile before she remembered she didn't like him. She nodded her acquiescence. Like it or not, she would obey.

There was one last thing. “Matt, I will need you and your people to clear the floor for a few hours.”

He knew it drove his security mad, not knowing how he left the Tower every time or how he came back. He gave the same order always, to clear the floor. After that it was easy. There was a specially prepared room in the center of this floor, one where Zobek opened his warded portals. That was where the wolf portal would open, too, when Geralt called it. 

Before whatever Dracula did to move the castle, Alucard was able to open his own portal in that room, too. That pathway was closed now. He would need Geralt to open the way.

While they waited for the nurses and doctor to finish up, John peppered Alucard with a few last minute questions. Matt had already left to go organize his staff. Whatever irritation he felt at Alucard’s orders, he kept it reasonably well hidden. By now, he was used to dealing with Alucard’s occasional eccentricities, so hopefully that tempered his irritation. Still, Alucard paid him and his people to put up with whatever he needed of them. It was good that Matt could keep his calm under such circumstances. He’d probably need it. 

Soon enough, the rest of the regular humans had departed, and Alucard was free to go sit at Geralt’s bedside. Perhaps sensing that a private goodbye was in order, Eskel nodded to Iga, and the two of them left as well. 

Once the door was closed and they were alone in the room, Geralt’s eyes fixed on him, expectantly. 

Alucard summoned his armor. He didn’t have quite as much talent at doing it in the most flashy way possible, as his Father was wont to, but he tried his best. He knew how much Geralt liked Dracula’s ease with summoning and discarding his clothes.

His own power came in tendrils of light. The small streams curled around his arms and legs, eating away his suit and forming the well known spikes and plates of his armored boots and clawed gauntlets. His coat and pants and belts came to life around him with barely a sound as his mundane clothes of Castlevania City disappeared. 

Little curls of light crawled up his neck, freed his hair from the tight braid it was in, and sent it floating down to his shoulders. With a quick blink and a touch of power, he dissolved the contacts in his eyes. Normally he would have simply taken them out, but while Geralt was there watching him, Alucard wanted the show to be as impressive as possible. 

Once everything was in place, he rolled his shoulders, settling the weight of his coat better on him. He loved it; it felt so much better than any suit in Castlevania ever did.

From the naked appreciation in Geralt’s gaze, he deeply loved the extra effort. He looked Alucard up and down, tensing and leaning forward the tiniest bit.

“Pretty wolf.” Geralt’s voice was low and harsh, and Alucard knew that he was thinking of all the things he wanted to do. All the things he wasn’t allowed to do.

“Did you like the show?” Alucard asked, knowing he shouldn’t tease but not quite managing to stop himself.

“Very much. So very much.” The look Geralt gave him was a mix of hunger, pride, and longing all wrapped up together. “It’s good to see you like this.” He smirked ruefully. “Even if I can’t do anything about it.”

Geralt held up a hand to him. He didn’t lift it far, but the movement was sure, without a hint of trembling. He was getting better. Far slower than Alucard wanted, but faster than he had any right to hope for.

Ever careful of his clawed gauntlets, Alucard sat on the edge of the bed and cradled Geralt’s hand in his own. 

“How bad do you think it is?” Geralt asked after a moment.

“It’s hard to say. I don’t know what might have happened to cut my Father off from the castle. As you have seen, he and it are very much living in symbiosis.” Alucard absently trailed the smooth top of one claw over Geralt’s hand as he spoke, relishing the ability to touch Geralt however he wanted now that there was no audience. The fact that it brought a small smile to Geralt’s face was an added bonus.

“Do you think it’ll be dangerous?”

Alucard hesitated. The castle seemed mostly benign towards Geralt; it even seemed to like him at times. It definitely didn’t react that way towards Alucard. And for all its beauty, the castle could be an incredibly dangerous place.

“If my Father really is asleep, deeply enough to forget about the castle, it’s very possible the castle might try to kill me while he isn’t looking.”

Geralt’s hand squeezed his tightly for a moment as he sucked in a breath.

“Don’t hesitate,” Geralt said. “Whatever you see there, don’t hesitate.”

“I won’t,” Alucard promised. “I’ve fought my way through the castle before. I’ll find him and wake him.” He paused, savoring the sight of Geralt wrapped up in his bed. “Do you still want my coat to keep you company?”

He would understand if Geralt said yes. More than once Alucard would have enjoyed having a token of Dracula to hold close while he was here, a world away. Geralt, too, for that matter. 

Geralt shook his head.

“You will need all the edge you can get in that place.” Geralt shifted his grip, gently pulling Alucard lower. “I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I sent you into battle without proper gear and something happened to you.”

There were no reassurances that Alucard could offer, not and stay truthful. He might very well get hurt, perhaps badly. Alucard wanted to believe that whatever happened he would be more than capable of dealing with, but life was seldom so simple. 

In the end, he just leaned down to give Geralt a soft kiss.

Geralt strained up to follow the kiss as Alucard backed away but grimaced and fell down into the bed with a huff.

“I don’t know what’s worse. Getting hurt or the goddamn recovery,” he growled.

Alucard smiled, tracing the tips of his clawed gauntlets over Geralt’s jaw in a way similar to what he saw his Father do. It caused a shiver to break over Geralt’s body and his grumpiness seemed to be washed away with it. He tilted his face into the claws.

“I will do all that I can to return to you,” Alucard said softly.

“You better,” Geralt playfully growled back. Then his expression turned serious. “Bring Dracula back to us.”

Alucard pulled the wolf medallion from Geralt’s pile of remaining gear, now settled in a drawer next to the bed, and passed it to Geralt.

Geralt ran his fingers across the polished flat surface of it, tracing around the wolf head design. The activation didn’t require any spoken component despite Geralt’s insistence on asking the wolf to open a portal; it only needed the will of the one using it. 

“Open the way, please. Take Alucard to his father,” Geralt whispered softly to it. Alucard felt something twist and shift as the portal opened elsewhere on the floor.

A loud, lonely wolf howl echoed through the halls, and the door to the bedroom nudged open. The Wolf poked its head through, its ears perked up curiously.

“He must really like you,” Alucard said as he walked over to touch the Wolf. He felt a tingle in his fingers and a tug in his chest when his hand touched the snow white fur. There was a connection between him and the Wolf, something he didn't quite understand. Something his mother did.

“What makes you say that?” Geralt asked.

“He usually doesn't leave the portal spot.” Alucard scratched behind one stiff ear before he pulled his hand back. “But he came for you.”

That made Geralt smile at them both. “Thank you, Wolf,” he said with a respectful nod. “Be safe. Both of you.”

Alucard looked back to Geralt one last time, and then followed the Wolf out the door. 

Flanking the hall on the other side were Iga and Eskel. Before he could walk by, Eskel stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“Here,” Eskel said, handing him a small potion bottle. Red liquid sloshed inside and a tiny bird symbol was carved into the wax seal. “Swallow. Just in case.”

“Eskel, this likely won’t work on me,” Alucard said softly. It was a kind thought, but a waste. He wasn’t human. The regeneration effects of the Swallow wouldn’t do anything for him.

But Eskel just shrugged, and kept pressing the bottle towards him. “Just in case. You can give it back to me if you don’t need it.”

Alucard pocketed the small bottle. It couldn't hurt to take it with him.

“Try to keep him in bed while I’m gone,” Alucard murmured, knowing how hard this task was going to be.

“Take care of yourself. Geralt is in safe hands here.”

He would. He would find his father, wake him up, and come back here as soon as possible.

As always, the Wolf waited patiently for him to follow. As soon as Alucard started moving towards it, it walked ahead, leading him down the hall and towards the room where Alucard knew the portal waited. 

Dark energy filled the room, concentrating at the place where the portal lay open. To human eyes, it would look like a room shrouded in shadow with a particularly black spot in one area. Alucard could sense the rift there, and he could feel the castle reaching out to him. Hungry.

He followed the Wolf into that black rift, and the world fell away.

\---


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes from Quarra: I've been making good progress on editing, and also the series just got 100 bookmarks, so I'm gonna indulge and post this chapter VERY early!

When Alucard stepped out of the wolf portal and into Dracula’s castle, the portal room there looked the same way it always did. The walls and floor were made of large, grey slabs of stone. It was a relatively plain room, circular with a second story balcony that wrapped the whole way around. Massive doors lined the walls on both stories, all of them shut. A few red and black banners sporting Dracula’s signature dragon insignia hung from the balustrade, trailing down nearly to the floor. There were a couple of benches scattered around on the lower floor where Alucard stood, as well as a wooden chest or two. 

In the center of the room, engraved into the stone floor, was the image of a wolf’s head. The same image on the medallion that acted as Geralt’s key to the castle. 

The room held no guards. This wasn’t unusual, but there was an itch at the edge of Alucard’s senses telling him that there were demons waiting in shadows. Watching.

Every door looked the same. The castle itself was a living thing, and it very much didn’t like him. Alucard didn't even try to look for the correct door manually; the castle would change what the door led to anyways. 

Instead, he lifted his hand and concentrated, pouring power into his palm to form the familiar shape of a tiny bird. A locator spell. 

The swallow shot up into the air. Its long tail trailed motes of light as it flew a tight circle around him, chirping in greeting. Then it separated from him and headed for one of the doors on the floor above him.

No stairs lead to the second story. There were spots where the balcony lay crumbling, though; the evidence of previous battles still not fixed. He found a likely spot, and leaped up, changing his form mid movement into that of a massive white wolf. His paws touched the floor lightly, claws clicking on the polished floor. Then he leaped again, straight through the doorway that his spell-bird went through.

As soon as he was through, he had to jerk to a sudden stop. In his shock he turned into his human form, just to make sure that he really was seeing what he thought he was seeing.

The answer was _yes_.

There really was a whole forest on the other side of the door, and not just the scattered trees and statuary that could be found in the Old God’s garden. He looked up, disbelieving, at the full moon above the canopy and the brightly shining stars that peeked through the dark green leaves.

The trees around him were old and big, with trunks wide enough he wouldn't be able to circle them with his arms. The leaves were familiar looking, six pronged and a little rough to touch. Those were the kind of trees he was raised with. He’d never really seen them in modern times.

Dry leaves crunched under his feet and his boots sank down into the soil, filling the air with the scent of damp earth and decomposing greenery so unique to forests. 

He turned back, but the door he’d come through was gone. Also not unusual for the castle, but still no less annoying. The magic swallow he followed was circling above his head, chirping in a confused manner. The bird had lost the trail and was no longer capable of tracking Dracula. Alucard withheld a sigh of frustration and dismissed the spell, making the little glowing bird disappear. At least it gave him a starting direction.

The forest was unusually quiet, and after a moment, Alucard understood why. Off in the distance he heard the sound of fighting, the grunts and rips of a small scuffle. No doubt the normal night creatures were all hidden away. Assuming anything in Dracula’s castle could be considered normal.

For lack of anything better to do, he headed towards the sound of the fight. He moved quickly but took care to be cautious and silent. The demons of Dracula’s castle sometimes enjoyed fighting amongst themselves, and it would do him no good to stumble into something he didn’t need to be involved in. But just seeing what type of creature lived here might help him figure out where he was.

Or _when_.

Time wasn’t always a straightforward thing in this place. The scent of the forest played havoc with his memory as he moved.

The fight was finishing just as he stepped out from around a large tree. A massive beast swayed in the air only to crash to the ground with a branch-rattling thump. It didn’t look like anything Alucard had ever encountered. It was twice the size of a warg, and had a thick, gray hide bristling with sparse, coarse hair. Squat, dirty horns thrust up from what was left of its head and back, and its solid black eyes were already clouding over. Deep lacerations covered its whole body, and the leaves in the small clearing were covered in gore. The scent of blood covered the too familiar scent of the forest, paradoxically letting Alucard breathe easier.

Over the beast stood a human, a man in scarlet and gold armor. Alucard could hear how his heart pounded from effort and the pulse of his labored breaths. The scent of his sweat ghosted through the windless forest. It was oddly familiar, but at the same time Alucard was sure that he’d never met this man before. 

The make of his armor reminded Alucard of the Brotherhood, because rather than being a regular suit of full plate, the gold armored plates were woven into a heavy red coat. It looked as decorative as it was functional. Not unlike what both Alucard and Dracula wore, actually. 

The man had a brown hood up over his head and a heavy combat cross in his hand. It had been a very long time since Alucard had last seen a functional Combat Cross, much less one so similar to what Alucard was trained with.

As he watched, the hooked chain slithered back into the cross, settling into place with a clang.

“Who goes there?” the man asked, voice low and quiet. The sound of the accent sent cold shivers down Alucard’s spine. That was his Father's accent. The voice was similar, too, but the way the words were spoken was downright alien. They were quiet. Almost neutral.

“Just a traveler passing through. I mean you no ill will,” Alucard replied, though he was hesitant to step into the clearing. The shadows of the forest would hide him a little bit, but his unearthly nature was hard to miss. Especially for a warrior like this one. Alucard didn’t have time for a brawl, not when his task was so urgent.

“Come out into the light,” the warrior said. “I have no wish to fight unnecessary battles, but I will not trust a voice in the dark.”

Alucard took a breath and debated. If he ran, no doubt he’d be followed. If he showed himself, this warrior might attack anyways. A man with a combat cross would not look kindly on a vampire. But so far he seemed at least a little willing to talk. Perhaps he’d know where they were.

Silent as ever, Alucard stepped into the moonlit clearing. He knew well how he must look, with his armored coat, wild white hair, and inhuman gold and black eyes. Clawed gauntlets, plate greaves, and Crissaegrim belted to his side, too. There could be no mistaking he was an inhuman fighter, and a dangerous one at that.

Now that he’d stepped closer, he could see the man’s warm brown hair, obviously growing out of a shorter cut. There were tendrils falling over his face, hiding his eyes from view. He looked young. And _big_. He wasn’t quite as tall as Alucard, but the breadth of his shoulders and the way the coat strained against his chest spoke clearly of his sheer power. He had an armored gauntlet on his right hand; the item steeped in so much magical energy that Alucard could smell it from here.

He stepped closer to Alucard and pulled his hood completely off, shaking his messy hair out of his eyes. 

Alucard sucked in a breath, finally recognizing the man. 

For all the differences, the coloring, the size, the way he spoke, the fact that this person was clearly still alive and human---it was Dracula. Or, as Alucard was slowly starting to suspect, the man he was before he was turned into a vampire.

“I am Gabriel Belmont,” the man said in that low, quiet voice that was so shocking to Alucard. “Knight of the Brotherhood of Light.” There was clear pride in the title, even the man’s stance shifting slightly to reflect it. Dracula always said the Brotherhood’s name like other people vomited, full of disgust and rage. This man was _proud_ to be part of it.

“My name is Alucard,” he managed to say despite his shock. He was still reeling from the dichotomy of what was in front of his eyes and what he knew should be there instead.

“And what is a vampire doing out in these woods?” There was suspicion in Gabriel's voice, but curiosity too. 

Despite the fact that Alucard knew that Gabriel and Dracula were one and the same, he found he couldn’t bring himself to call the man in front of him Dracula, not even in the privacy of his own thoughts. Gabriel was too…light, almost. Unburdened, perhaps. The rage and belligerent confidence that so defined Dracula was absent in Gabriel. Until that moment, Alucard had not realized just how much it was a constant in every aspect of how Dracula held himself.

The contrast was so stark that it took him a moment to realize he had yet to answer the question. 

“I’m looking for someone dear to me.” Alucard swallowed, looking at the familiar yet foreign face. He found himself noting that, for all his power, Dracula was much leaner than his human self. “He’s lost,” he said, realizing that fact with painful accuracy.

Where Dracula might have scoffed or sneered, Gabriel just furrowed his brow in thought.

“I’m not sure I believe you,” Gabriel said with a small frown.

“I swear to you on my sword, Crissaegrim, I mean no harm to any good creature.” Those words echoed the vow he took centuries ago to protect all human life, and they still held true. “Someone I love is missing and...” He swallowed hard, looking Gabriel up and down. “And I don’t know how to get him back.”

Something flashed over Gabriel’s face; pain and anguish, with just a hint of the anger that was such a big part of Dracula.

“I know…” Gabriel started, but he checked himself, stopping what he was going to say. “I wish you luck.”

He’d meant to say that he knew how it felt to lose someone you love, Alucard realized. His face held quiet torment but without the rage and the burning vengeance was so present in Dracula. It was as disturbing as it was different.

This couldn’t be real. But Alucard knew better than most that the castle could make dreams and fantasy into reality. His bird brought him to Gabriel for a reason. Something important was going on here.

“What are you doing here, in this forest?” Alucard asked. He stepped a little closer but made sure that his hands were kept away from his sword.

“I’m on a mission to kill the Lord of the Vampires,” Gabriel said. As he spoke, he turned back towards the fallen beast and bent down to retrieve what looked like silver daggers from the corpse. He wiped them on the monster’s fur and then sheathed them at his belt.

“The Lord of Vampires?” Alucard tried to think back to who that used to be. Perhaps Gabriel was hunting down himself in the form of Dracula?

“Yes,” Gabriel said shortly. 

Alucard watched him strap his daggers to his belt and set his gear to rights. It was obvious that he was preparing to leave the clearing. Just beyond the fallen beast, the barest of a trail ran between the trees.

“May I travel with you a while?” Alucard asked, suddenly uneasy about letting Gabriel out of his sight. “These woods are dangerous, and two together might fair better than one alone.”

“I will kill any of your kind that attacks me,” Gabriel said, not looking at Alucard.

This sentiment was another shock. Dracula would rather kill enemies preemptively; he didn’t care too much about collateral damage, either. Gabriel was willing to give even a vampire the benefit of the doubt, letting it pass by him if it didn’t attack. 

That didn’t fit with what Alucard had been told about the great warrior of the Brotherhood of Light. Gabriel was said to be unbending. A terror for any dark creature. Alucard had been taught from a very young age to believe that Gabriel Belmont would kill any and all creatures of the dark he met, no matter their crimes or lack of them. He was the Light’s ultimate weapon of destruction.

“I hold little love for any creature ruled by darkness and thirst. Should you turn on me, I will kill you,” Gabriel added solemnly. 

Alucard lived with the knowledge that Dracula was capable of killing him, but he didn’t truly expect it, not even in a fit of temper. He only realized that fact now as he heard Gabriel issue the threat. While Gabriel seemed to be willing to let Alucard live as long as things stayed peaceful, he obviously didn’t have any qualms about killing him should Alucard prove to be a danger.

“Why do you want to kill the Lord of Vampires?” Alucard asked quietly, falling into step with the warrior of old. He tried to place where in the past Dracula had regressed to.

“He has something I need,” Gabriel said. 

Alucard noticed a cut on his arm, probably the result of the fight, but Gabriel neither seemed to notice or care. The wound was healing, but too fast for a normal human. Alucard could nearly smell the magic on the wound, the power of light was almost tangible with how quickly it knitted the flesh together. 

He’d always known that Dracula had been powerful in both Light and Shadow magic. Even after he’d changed into a vampire, Dracula could still use both Light and Holy spells despite being an undead creature. He simply refused to. He abhorred anything connected with the Light. 

It was bizarre to see him as a human, using advanced magic as easily as breathing. As they walked together, Gabriel stayed focused on studying their surroundings, probably listening for possible approaching enemies. If he was aware that Alucard was watching him, he was ignoring it. Alucard realized that Gabriel wasn’t even truly aware that he was using the Light to heal himself. Magic that few people ever managed to master, Gabriel used with so much ease that he wasn’t even aware he was doing it. 

How it did feel for Dracula to reject that part of himself, to cut out something so deeply entrenched in his mind and soul? The more he thought about it, the more Alucard realized that it must have been agony.

Then Alucard remembered. When Gabriel was alive, the Lord of Vampires was Carmilla. A _she_, not a _he_. Unease filled him at the thought that, in a way, perhaps Gabriel wanted to kill Dracula, wanted to kill himself, rather than simply relive the past. That idea was quickly masked as much as possible. He dare not let any of it show to Gabriel.

“Tell me of your lost loved one,” Gabriel said suddenly, startling Alucard out of his reverie. 

It wasn’t as straightforward a question as it seemed at first glance. Should he say he was looking for his Father, thus denying any romantic connection? Or should he say he looked for a lover, and hide the fact the lover was his Father? How much of Dracula listened through Gabriel’s ears?

He took a moment to think his answer over. As they walked farther away from the beast’s body, the natural nighttime sounds of the forest picked up; little chirps of insects and the soft call of night birds slowly filled the air. It was oddly peaceful.

“We fought…for a very long time. He’d been hurt so very badly that he was lashing out, angry at all the world.” A paltry description for the destruction that Dracula brought down on the world and humanity, but in essence true. “Eventually we came to an accord, and he---” Alucard had to swallow hard again. “He gave up all hope of peace in order to destroy a greater evil. He thinks himself a monster, but there is more compassion and love in him than I have seen in many humans.”

Gabriel looked at him out of the corner of his eye, but didn’t offer an opinion. Perhaps Dracula _was_ listening through Gabriel’s ears.

“He is more balanced now,” Alucard continued. “Though still temperamental. Something happened, though. He and I…we both do not open our hearts easily. But against all expectation, we did. We found happiness with each other. And then with another, who brought back joy to our lives. But nothing is easy, and fate is cruel. Our third was nearly killed. We are both struggling to cope with that.”

“Third?” Gabriel asked, sounding shocked. He even looked over at Alucard, pausing in his punishing pace forward.

His eyes were green, Alucard realized. The color shocked him, though it shouldn't have. It looked so alien in that familiar face.

Alucard slowed to stand next to him, tilting his head curiously. “This surprises you?”

Gabriel opened his mouth and closed it, obviously lost for words.

“You need not be shy,” Alucard said softly. “I will not judge you for your thoughts. After all, I am already a monstrous creature, am I not? Certainly I have no righteousness to stand on, no moral high ground I can claim. I wouldn’t blame you for thinking the worst of me. But I am curious what part…surprises you so.”

He had to wonder, was it the fact that Alucard admitted to a relationship with not just one, but two other men? Something the Church would have been quick to condemn. Or was it something half remembered from Dracula. 

“I know…some men…prefer the company of men,” Gabriel said haltingly, still obviously off kilter. “But…why three of you?”

A fair question. One Alucard had asked himself more than once, in fact. He struggled for a moment to find the essence of the truth of their situation. 

“Because we love each other,” he said finally. “In different ways, perhaps. But each of us tempers the others. I think we are better…people when we are together. We certainly are happier. There is not so much love in our lives that we would squander this chance at it, simply because it is different than what we expected.”

“There is nobody like that for me. Not anymore,” Gabriel said harshly, turning away and resuming his fast paced walk.

Alucard followed behind, his heart aching. They walked in silence for a minute or two, until he said, “I’m sorry for your loss. I’d ease your pain if I could.”

For a moment he feared he’d overstepped. Dracula was prickly at the best of times, and Gabriel was at least some reflection of him. But Alucard couldn’t see him suffer without at least offering something. He couldn’t bear it. 

“I will hunt down those responsible,” Gabriel growled, low and deep. “There will be no mercy for _them_.”

There was a bit of Dracula peeking out from behind Gabriel’s eyes. That harshness was something Alucard was long familiar with. He nodded, confident that Gabriel would sense the movement, even if the forest was too dark to properly see it. 

They had been walking for a while now, and Gabriel was fresh from a fight. Alucard eyed the cut on Gabriel’s arm---more than halfway healed already---and the way his breath misted in the cold air, and thought that he looked tired.

“It’s late, don’t you want to rest a bit? I can keep watch,” he offered.

Gabriel shook his head.

“Sleep is not a friend of mine.”

The irony of that statement wasn’t lost on Alucard, considering he was here specifically because Dracula had slipped into too deep a slumber. It was also disturbing, knowing even as a human his father couldn't get any respite, not even in sleep.

“Here.” Gabriel motioned ahead of them, his voice a low growl in the night air. “The path up to the castle lies ahead.”

They quickened their pace, slipping in between the trunks of two massive dead trees. 

As Alucard stepped through, the woods in front of him changed. No longer were they headed through a dense forest. Instead, the ruins of an old structure unfolded around him. Fallen, worn stone blocks and half crumbled walls stretched out in between scattered, withered trees. A quick look behind him showed that the forest behind had changed to match. 

There was no way they’d already reached the castle that Gabriel sought, and Alucard was certain they’d been walking through a dense forest to get here. But as he spun in place, tracking the fallen stone around him, the forest behind him was gone. All that remained was the ancient stones and a few dead trees. 

Gabriel was gone, too.

Creeping anxiety threaded up Alucard’s spine as he turned again and headed into the ruins. This was where Gabriel had led him, so there was something here he needed to see.

As he stepped forward, he saw Gabriel sitting on the ground, propped up against a piece of crumbled wall. His head was low to his chest and it was obvious he was sleeping, dreaming. His fingers twitched in agitation. As Alucard walked closer, he became peripherally aware of more structures behind him. What first seemed like just a few half walls became raised stone platforms and partially crumbled pillars of white stone.

“Gabriel,” he called softly, wishing to wake him up before nightmares took too deep a hold of him. “Wake up.”

Gabriel didn't hear him, though. He kept dreaming, body twitching more violently, until he gave a sharp jerk and startled away with a loud, “No!” 

“Gabriel,” Alucard called, crouching in front of him, but Gabriel looked right through him. 

His eyes were so green and so lost; that look hurt something deep inside of Alucard. This man was so removed from what Alucard imagined his Father to be when he was still human. It kept throwing him off. Gabriel Belmont was supposed to be larger than life, an inexhaustible and unconquerable warrior. Not this tormented man so obviously hanging to his sanity by the skin of his teeth.

Another figure stepped out, dressed in long and ragged tunic. He was hunched over, body too massive to be human, and he had long hair that couldn’t quite obscure his inhuman features. Alucard stared at the long face and the curved horns and realized he knew that visage. He’d seen it on more than one painting in the castle.

It was Pan. One of the Old Gods.

“Do not let the Darkness possess you, Gabriel,” Pan said, pulling Gabriel’s attention to him immediately. Neither Pan nor Gabriel paid Alucard any mind. It was as if Alucard wasn’t even there.

Alucard took a step back. Whatever was going on here was just a figment of the castle’s power. Or perhaps of Dracula’s sleeping mind. 

“You must remove the gauntlet from the knight,” Pan said, opening his arms towards Gabriel, entreating him. “It is a key and the moment will come when you will be in great need of it.”

Gabriel stood up and shook his head. “No. I will have to continue without it. I will not harm them.”

_Them?_

Alucard frowned in confusion. He didn’t see anyone else in the ruins. Not that he had had time to really look around, but still.

“He will,” a whispered voice said behind him. Alucard spun in place. 

Another version of Gabriel stood there. His face was sunken and bloody, and his armor a torn, ragged mess. The green of his eyes was so bright that they looked feverish in the dim light. He wasn’t looking at Alucard at all. Instead, he stood frozen staring at Pan and his other self with wide, lost eyes.

“He will,” this wrecked version of Gabriel said again. “I will. I killed them. I kill everything I touch.”

“No.” Alucard stepped forward and shook his head fiercely. “That’s not true.”

“But it is?” One ragged, bone thin hand pointed back towards the scene in front of them.

“I am afraid it is far too late for that…” Pan’s voice was low and apologetic. He waved towards a stone slab off to the side.

On it was the corpse of a young woman, stabbed through the heart by a silver dagger. Just like the ones Alucard saw Gabriel take out of the beast in the forest.

The version of Gabriel that Pan was speaking to looked on in horror. He reached out to touch the body, but before he made contact, he stopped just inches away to stare at his hands. 

“No,” he said, anguish and disbelief twisting in his voice. He dropped to his knees there, still staring at his hands like they’d betrayed him. “No, no, no...”

“Yes,” the wrecked Gabriel whispered behind Alucard. “Always yes. Every time. Ever person. And they. All. _Knew._” He spat out the last word, and rage twisted his features. His eyes were all but glowing with the force of the emotions churning inside of him. “They knew and they let it happen. They made it happen.”

Then he looked at Alucard. This whole time, Alucard had been hoping that his Father would recognize him. But now that Gabriel did, it was worse than if he hadn’t. His eyes held so much sorrow, so much _resignation_. There was bitter acceptance there, the internalized knowledge that no matter what he did or how hard he fought, he would always end up betrayed. It hurt so much to see that acceptance, that awareness and obvious willingness to take on whatever would happen. It was just as disturbing as the rage of before. 

“You knew, too.”

The scenery shifted again. The shapes and figures around them changed between one heartbeat and the next.

This new room, Alucard knew all too well. He’d fought Dracula here, the first time. When Alucard was still human, still Trevor Belmont, Knight of the Brotherhood.

The walls of the massive grey room were lined with large statues, and off to one side was the Mirror of Fate. Crumbling stone and broken glass from the walls and windows littered the floor, and in the middle lay his own bloody body.

“...Father,” the image of his human self whispered out. His last word before dying. 

A strange sense of dissonance raced through him as he looked at his human self. He’d been a warm man, once, with long dark brown hair. It wasn’t quite the shade of Gabriel’s, it wasn’t quite as red, but now that he’d seen what his Father looked like as a human, he could see some coloring similarities. Undeath had worn away at him, made him thinner and harder. Much like Dracula, now that he thought of it. As a young knight, he’d worn brilliant green and silver, adorned with bright shining plate armor sewn into his heavy coat, just as Gabriel’s coat was. 

And here he was. The end of that human life, bleeding out on the floor.

He’d been raised as a weapon against evil. He’d fought and bled and suffered to get to this point. Just to get to the chance to kill Dracula once and for all, and end his nightmare reign over humanity. 

All the while, he had known that Dracula was his father. But he hadn’t said anything. Never told Dracula his name while they fought. To Dracula’s knowledge, he’d simply been fighting yet another knight of the Brotherhood.

Not until his dying breath, anyways. As Trevor Belmont lay bleeding out, struck down by his Father’s hand, the Mirror of Fate had shown him all the ways that Dracula had been betrayed. He’d suddenly understood that it was pain and justifiable rage that drove his Father. Not evil. 

Too late to do anything about it.

Dracula was there, snarling in satisfaction as a foe well vanquished.

“I understand now. I understand everything,” the dying Trevor whispered. Alucard remembered saying this. The pain of it. He remembered how it felt to have his own combat cross shoved deep into his chest, and the way blood filled his mouth and tripped up his voice. “I have fought against my fate, even though it was in vain. You. You accepted your fate, and you were betrayed at every turn. Yet you still followed the path set out for you. Even when that betrayal included your own wife. Fate is cruel. But in the end, I pity you...Father...” Those were his last words.

With every word, Dracula’s gaze turned from triumphant to confused. It was so painful, looking at Dracula’s wide eyes as he stared at Trevor’s dying body. The way he repeated the word, “Father?” was so shocked, without even a hint of rage in it. There was just the confusion that Alucard just had seen in the Gabriel he met moments before, right as Gabriel stumbled upon the dead woman in the ruins.

But Trevor had no more words for Dracula. He simply pointed at the Mirror of Fate. 

It hurt even worse to see Dracula turn to the Mirror and watch the past that Trevor refused to tell him.

“Marie?” Dracula whispered, obviously seeing his dead wife. The way Dracula’s face lit up was both amazing and heart wrenching. The love he felt for her was still clear and obvious on his face. His red eyes softened, and then widened in horrified betrayal as the events of Trevor Belmont’s past were unveiled for him. The way Marie hid the pregnancy from him and gave her child away to keep it safe.

“Damn you! Why!” Dracula screamed, turning back to Trevor’s still body. But Trevor had already died, shuddering and breathing out his last breath while Dracula looked on in the mirror. With a burst of shadow magic, Dracula disappeared and then reappeared instantly next to Trevor’s body.

“No! No, no no,” Dracula kept repeating, tears tracking his face as he pulled the combat cross out of Trevor’s chest, ripped his own wrist open, and then pressed the freely bleeding wound to Trevor’s open mouth. “Live,” he whispered brokenly in between sobs. “Live...my son...”

Alucard didn’t remember any of this. He never saw what happened after he’d told Dracula of their family connection in a last bitter attempt to get some kind of revenge on him. He regretted that now, regretted it so fiercely. 

When Trevor had fought his way to Dracula to try and kill him, he didn’t know the whole truth. That Dracula didn’t kill his wife, Trevor’s mother, out of anger or spite, but rather because he was under a spell. A spell cast by Zobek, his mentor and confidant in the Brotherhood of the Light. The Brotherhood had only told Trevor part of the truth. Just enough to shape him into a weapon against the darkness, fueled by hate and bitter regret. 

But now, seeing the scene with Pan and that dead girl, Alucard realized that this last act of spiteful vengeance was just another betrayal in a long list of them.

“You knew, too.” Gabriel’s voice was full of things that Alucard could only guess at.

Alucard whirled in place, trying to place that whisper in his ear. But there was no one there. He slowly turned around, but that wrecked version of Gabriel had vanished. There was only Dracula, still crying over Trevor’s corpse, screaming his pain out. 

The suffering in those screams reached out to Alucard. He knew how deeply emotions ran in his Father, but seeing that agony first hand was heartbreaking. Especially over him. They’d never met before at that point. Dracula didn’t even know he had a son. Alucard never expected Dracula to suffer this much over him.

Alucard stepped forward to where Dracula knelt, weeping. So far he hadn’t been able to interact with these images of the past, but this realm was fluid. Maybe there was still something he could do. Either way, he had to try.

But before he could take a second step, his feet adhered to the ground. Blood had pooled up onto the floor under his feet while his attention was diverted, gathering in a larger and larger puddle around him.

This was the castle’s work. Alucard could feel it. Little tendrils of blood flowed up and around his boots, wrapping around them so tightly that he could hear the metal of his greaves creak. He put a hand on the hilt of his sword. This manifestation could be damaged, especially with the power held in his blade, but Alucard was hesitant to do so. So far the castle hadn’t tried to damage him; only show him things. Or perhaps it was Dracula’s sleeping mind that was showing him. The worst part was, he wasn’t sure which one was responsible for this.

Before he could decide whether or not to draw Crissaegrim, the tendrils on his feet pulled down. _Hard_.

Alucard was dragged straight into the pool of blood, down through the floor. The thick blood rapidly covered his body, coating his mouth and eyes and rendering him blind and mute. It only lasted a moment. The sticky sensation of cursed blood itching on his face only lasted a moment, and then he was released. 

He fell. 

Luckily, it wasn’t a long drop. He barely had enough time to right himself in mid air before he crashed into the stone floor. 

But it wasn’t the floor. Alucard looked up, expecting to see the blood pool that he was yanked through, but what he saw was Dracula weeping over Trevor’s body. Both of them were pinned to the ceiling, as if the whole castle had turned upside down and Alucard was the only one who noticed. The ground Alucard stood on was the ceiling of the room he had just been in. Even the moonlight that fell through the tall windows was angled down towards where Dracula and Trevor lay.

“Everybody lies,” there was that hoarse voice again, so much like Dracula and yet at the same time completely different. Tormented and lost, angry and so full of insanity that it hurt to hear it. Just the sound of it raised goosebumps on Alucard’s neck.

Alucard whirled around to face the speaker.

It was Gabriel again, but again, he was different than the versions from before. He looked leaner. The bones of his cheekbones were sharp on his face, like Dracula’s, but his hair was still rich red-brown, if lanky and much too long, and his eyes were still so very green. His red armored coat was ragged; long rips visible in many places and his weapon was gone from his side.

“Everybody wants to use me.” 

Alucard could smell the power wafting off of this version of Gabriel. Puissant and unchecked, it oozed out of him to seep into the ground, into the very air around him. Alucard’s lungs stung when he breathed in as the corrosive energy ate into him. It wasn’t contained the way Dracula’s power was. Despite his temper, Dracula always had his power under absolute control. This felt different. It spilled over from him, sharp and acidic, making the blood that was gathered around his feet bubble. 

“I was wrong,” Alucard said gently, while still keeping careful eye on Gabriel. This could be only a projection, but it was a projection made by Dracula inside a place completely controlled by him. 

“Were you?” Gabriel snarled at him, and his hands crooked into claws of black power. “Were you really?”

“Yes,” he answered. “I believed blindly, I didn’t question the facts I was given.” Alucard swallowed, suddenly realizing just how much he was guilty of treating Dracula like everyone else in his life did, at least at that point in life. “I should have at least given you a chance to tell your side of the story.”

Alucard was backing away slowly. He didn’t want to fight here. Not in this place that woke the memories of his death, of the loss of his humanity. He didn’t want to stay here any longer than he had to, and he wanted to recreate the scene of his death even less.

“Lies again,” Gabriel hissed. His messy hair hung in his face and his lips were dry and cracked. Slowly, he stalked forward, keeping pace with Alucard’s retreating steps. “There was the Greater Good, and, as always, I was just a damn footnote. A means to an end. Always just that. I had to be the worst, the most powerful monster, because someone had to kill all the rest. And now I am, and every. Single. One of you will see the folly of your plans.”

He screamed in rage and a torrent of dark energy blasted out of his mouth, like a dragon’s breath made of corrosive vitriol. 

Alucard drew his sword and braced it in front of him, activating the power embedded in it to cut through the torrent of power blasting at him. The move worked. The Crissaegrim glowed bright blue as it split the wave in front of him. But the sheer power of the attack still sent Alucard sliding back. His shoulders stung from the strain of holding his sword in front him. His face hurt, too. Little licks of that awful, black power ate into his skin, and his body healed them almost as quickly. Almost.

“I am here for you,” Alucard said, hesitant to lower his sword. “Just for you. To find you in this castle and wake you!”

The wave of power cut off, just as suddenly as it started. 

Gabriel was far closer to Alucard than he was when it started, though. Only a few steps away, just barely out of grabbing distance. His mouth was twisted into a pained grimace, and his lips were cracked, red, and looked painfully raw. Black power dripped out between them like blood, or maybe tar. But his eyes were wide and hurt, and his hands strained, almost ready to reach out but not quite able.

“You’re lying,” Gabriel whispered, but the words sounded as much like a desperate plea as they did an accusation. “There is nothing and no one for me. I am alone.”

He roared again, this time swinging his arm at Alucard in a casual backhand, sending another wave of black power crashing into him. 

Alucard braced with his sword, and didn’t quite manage to shield himself with the long blade. Power cut through his coat and into his skin. He had just a split second, one moment to decide what to do. To run away, to attack, or to evade. 

He sent the blade away, banishing it to a magical holding space accessible only to him. At the same time, he let his body change, let his body fade away as he shifted into his spectral wolf form. 

The corrosive black power went through him, harmlessly passing his spirit form by. 

The change shocked Gabriel enough that he stopped his attack, and stared at Alucard’s new form with confused eyes. Then he reached up one of his hands and pressed it to his temple. His eyes closed and he shook his head, as if fighting off something.

“You lie,” he repeated, but his voice was softer, more confused now. “Even Laura lied.” His voice broke. “I thought I was helping her, saving her…”

The scenery around them shifted yet again. 

Stone walls rose up from the ground around them, black and shining. Slowly, they grew pale and crumbling, until there wasn’t more than ruins staring down at Alucard. Pieces of an older structure were floating in the air above them, hanging by the remnants of powerful spells laced into each stone. Clear blue sky and windy mountain peaks were visible all around them, and cold wind tugged at Alucard’s coat. 

The magic was so thick in the air that it was hard to breathe; it was cloying and heavy, sticking in his lungs with every inhale. It felt old. Older than the Light and Shadow magics that Alucard had been taught as a child. This felt more primal, somehow. Like standing in the eye of the storm, as if somewhere just beyond his senses there was a hurricane of pure power happening, but he was too blind to see it. 

Alucard shifted back into his human form again and turned, looking at the scene taking place behind him. His ears rang with the reverberations of power all around him.

The wrecked version of Gabriel was there in front of huge set of double doors. His hair was long and messy, his coat damaged and left in disarray. Alucard could smell the power wafting off of him, unchecked and so very dark.

He was bent over, gasping and gurgling. Alucard had seen enough men in their last moments to recognize that Gabriel was dying. His breath stuttered, and what air he did manage to gasp in sounded wet and thick, as if his lungs were already filled with liquid. Even the vast power he controlled wasn't enough to fight whatever was happening. Seeing his indomitable Father in such a state was like a blow to the chest, a shock to see him broken and so physically vulnerable, to the point that he was barely managing to keep on his feet.

There was blood on his lips.

In front of him was a girl. She didn't look older than fifteen, and she was dressed in a long, black, lacy dress. Her hair was pinned up in an intricate, high pattern. Sparkling jewelry threaded through her raven locks, her face was pale, and her body was waif slim.

This must be the Laura that Gabriel mentioned.

“My blood is killing you,” she said softly, watching Gabriel with pity and hunger in her eyes.

“You lied to me,” Gabriel gasped, pain making him bend over again.

“I told you no living being can enter that prison,” she said. “You have to drink my blood, all of it to replace your own. It’s the only way.”

“I will not kill you!” Gabriel snarled falling to one knee. It was obvious that pain was wrecking his body, making him fight for every breath. Alucard could see how close he was to death, how much he suffered, yet he could tell that Gabriel was serious. He wasn’t going to kill that child.

“You have to,” she pleaded, bending closer to Gabriel’s face, “Please, Gabriel,” she cried, her voice breaking. “Please, save me from this existence, Gabriel!”

Gabriel cried out in anguish. Somehow it seemed even worse than the sounds of the physical suffering he endured. He pulled her forward and bit into her neck. It happened so fast. Alucard started at the sudden move. 

He watched as Gabriel drank the girl’s blood, watched as it spilled, dark and thick, all over him and the child. There were tears on Gabriel’s face as he drank her down.

This was the moment Gabriel turned into a vampire. This was the story that nobody knew, that nobody had ever witnessed. When Laura’s body fell limp in Gabriel’s arms, Gabriel tossed his head back and screamed.

Alucard could tell that something died in him in that moment. Some of the restless, writhing energy, the pain and anguish of before, was gone. Gabriel was still now. The feel of the room changed. The anger that laced through the power radiating out of him grew wicked and cold. Similar to what Alucard was familiar with from his Father now, but not nearly as powerful.

This was when _Dracula_ was born.

“She was supposed to be my salvation,” a voice behind him said.

Alucard turned to see who joined them now. It was the wrecked Gabriel again. One damaged and suffering, but still barely human.

The wrecked Gabriel watched the newly born Dracula place the girl’s body gently on a crumbling stone slab. She was the first vampire Alucard had seen die that hadn’t turned into dust. 

“She asked for help.” Gabriel’s lips twisted into a bitter snarl. “And all she wanted was for me to kill her.” He looked at his hands, now dripping blood. Thick rivers of it splashed down into the weathered stone floor. “They all let me kill them. They know and they never fight!”

This was Dracula’s pain made manifest. Under all that rage and horror, there was a foundation of terrible pain. The crushing inevitability of his fate.

But Alucard had fought every second of his life against the idea of inevitability. As a mortal, he trained and fought, he forced his way into Dracula’s castle to kill what he thought was the ultimate dark lord. The root of all evil. He fought and died. 

And then again, as a vampire, he fought against his hunger, his need for blood. He drove himself to reject every bit of evil that Dracula embodied. 

But he learned over time that Dracula wasn’t as evil as he suspected, and not everything must end in a fight. 

“I fought you,” Alucard said to this sad, tormented version of his Father. “I fought you with every ounce of my being. I would not let you define me. Your darkness holds no control over me.” Black energy radiated off of Gabriel, now the same as the thick power that Alucard could feel from the doorway where the vampire girl died, but the pained look on his face forced Alucard closer. “Your darkness has never controlled you, either. These terrible things happened, but there is more to our lives now.”

Gabriel wasn’t listening, not really. Black energy was still pouring off of him. His hair whipped around his face on an invisible current, and his eyes were fixed on the scene of Dracula laying down Laura’s body into a beautifully carved, marble casket. 

There was a second casket just behind that first one. His mother’s tomb. Dracula held that child vampire in enough esteem to lay her to rest next to his beloved wife.

“Through all the pain and betrayal that you have gone through, there is still some happiness left for you. For us.” Alucard pressed forward again. He was almost within reach. What he was going to do once he got there, he hadn’t the faintest idea, but he couldn’t think of anything else. “I am here for you, and Geralt is waiting for us.”

That seemed to spark a touch of recognition. Gabriel’s head tilted, and his eyes searched the room around them, bright and feverish. 

“Geralt,” he whispered, rough and broken. 

Something shifted behind them; the energies of the castle swirled around and the lighting of the room they were in changed to a soft warm glow. 

Alucard turned, surprised to see that they were in Dracula’s bedroom now, with the huge four poster bed right in the middle. The sheets were red, the color as deep as the most expensive of roses. Geralt and Dracula were there, bodies entwined and sweaty. Geralt was clinging to Dracula, his fingers tight on Dracula’s skin as he urged his lover on. They rocked together as Geralt tilted his head and Dracula lowered his fangs to bite. Alucard didn’t think much of it, all too used to how much Dracula liked to bite and drink from his lovers during sex. 

He felt a shiver of remembered pleasure at the sound Geralt was making under that bite, the wanton moans and half formed encouragements.

“Geralt,” Alucard said softly, more to Gabriel than to himself. He shifted closer to where Gabriel stood, again trying to bridge the distance. Tiny slivers of pain needled into him as dark energy roiled off of Gabriel’s body. But it wasn’t an intentional attack; all of Gabriel’s focus was on that bed. He stared, wide-eyed at their passion, and an awful grimace of pain twisted his face. 

Alucard dared to slide closer, almost shoulder to shoulder with Gabriel now. 

“He loves you,” Alucard said quietly, unwilling to break the mood of this scene they were witnessing. “With all that he is. And he does so with full knowledge of who and what you are. He _trusts you_.”

“He shouldn’t.” The words were a barely-audible growl, and the darkness around Gabriel spiked, electric and burning. It poured through the air, wrapping around Alucard and seeping into the stones under them. 

Alucard gritted his teeth, and withstood the pain even as cuts were seared into his skin wherever the tendrils touched him. It wasn’t as bad as it could have been, and Gabriel’s attention still hadn’t wavered from the scene in front of them. 

A flash of movement caught Alucard’s eye, and he turned to watch.

Dracula had braced his arm on the silk sheets above Geralt’s head and bit down harder, tearing Geralt’s throat open in a way he had never done, would never do, in reality. Alucard startled, lunging towards the image before he stopped himself. Geralt’s carotid artery was ripped open. Blood was spilling everywhere, soaking into the sheets.

Geralt was still arching under Dracula, moaning in pleasure, but soon the sounds tapered off. Dracula was killing him. Ripping that throat even further apart, heedless of the damage he caused and the waste of blood leaving Geralt’s body in a torrent. It soaked everything around them. The bed, the pillows. The pool of his blood spread so far that it spilled onto the stone floor. Geralt’s arms became limp and fell from their hold on Dracula’s body. His eyes were empty and blind as life left him, and still Dracula drank noisily.

“He’d let me kill him, too,” Gabriel said quietly. Most of the rage seemed to disappear, leaving only a deep, bone crushing sorrow in its wake. 

It took everything Alucard had to _not_ go to the image of his lovers. To not go running to hold Geralt and Dracula both. He’d _just seen_ Geralt in pieces before him, his blood spread out like there couldn’t be a drop left in him. It had just happened, not more than a few days ago.

But the scene in front of him wasn’t real. No matter how painful. This was just a reflection of Dracula’s fears. Or perhaps something more primal than that. The castle’s influence at work, maybe. It was a jealous mistress at the best of times. 

None of that mattered, though. 

What mattered was Gabriel, broken and suffering beside him. Because Gabriel _was_ Dracula, or some part of him, anyways. And right now Gabriel didn’t see the point in waking up.

Maybe that was why they were trapped there. 

“No,” Alucard said firmly, swallowing down the agony, both in his body and his heart. “No, Geralt knows you, and trusts you not to do this. And you _would not_.” 

He turned to Gabriel then, and swept him into a tight embrace. “You would not, because despite all of the centuries of pain and rage and suffering, you still have more capacity to love than anyone else I have ever met. I love you. Please, don’t leave us alone.”

Before Gabriel could push away, before he could focus that awful, corrosive power around them into an attack, Alucard kissed him. 

Surprisingly, it wasn’t like kissing Dracula at all. The lips under his did not give in to the kiss. They were stiff in surprise at first, and there were no fangs behind them to be watchful of. Gabriel even _tasted_ human. 

He lifted his hands and framed Gabriel’s face with them, licking in slowly, asking for entry. He wanted to taste him, taste the human that his Father used to be. The scent of life radiated off of him, filling up Alucard’s senses with it. Mixed in was so much pain, and he could hear the thunder of Gabriel’s heart and feel it pulsing under his hands. It hurt to realize just how vulnerable Gabriel was, for all his battle prowess. How fragile.

Gabriel clearly wasn't sure what to do. His hands rose and fell twice, never quite deciding to either push Alucard away or pull him close. Eventually Gabriel gave in. His lips opened up under Alucard’s insistent licks and his tongue slipped out to greet him. Gabriel might be confused, scared and in pain, but once the decision was made, he never hesitated. His hands settled on Alucard’s hips, gentle and above all careful as he kissed back. Slowly, he let his hands roam more, as if learning Alucard’s shape again.

With that welcome, Alucard pressed in further. He molded his body to Gabriel’s and ran a hand through his hair, giving himself up to the kiss. Letting Gabriel cautiously, tentatively take control. 

Slowly but surely, the twisted energy around them quieted. Whether or not the room around them changed, Alucard had no idea. He was too focused on the feel of their lips and tongues together, and on how Gabriel’s hands gently explored under his coat. Oh, but it was strange to feel his Father so human and fragile in his arms, despite the power that was still there. It brought out a protectiveness in him, not unlike how he felt about Geralt from time to time.

Soon enough Gabriel broke off the kiss.

“Don’t let the past repeat itself,” Gabriel whispered, his lips still close enough that they brushed Alucard’s when he spoke.

Alucard couldn't tell if the words were a plea or a warning. Both, maybe. He only knew that the body he was touching was fading away rapidly, turning to nothing but smoke under his hands.

He blinked his eyes open, not even remembering when he closed them, and realized he was alone. 

He was still in Dracula’s bedroom, but it looked different. 

It was bigger, lighter. Alucard was facing the wide open balcony door. The sun outside was just starting to set, painting the mountain peaks a lovely shade of red and gold. For a long moment he stared at the billowing curtains, felt the crisp, fresh air fanning his face, and wondered if this, too, was another dreamscape.

He turned around, towards the large bed with its black silk sheets and white, luscious furs. 

His Father was there, laying on his side, his back to Alucard. As Alucard watched, he could see the steady rise and fall of Dracula’s ribs, his breath so slow that it was obvious he was asleep.

Alucard took in a shuddery inhale and tried to push the churning emotions away. There would be time to deal with them later, he promised himself. All that he saw, everything that had happened…that could wait. There was work to be done, and people were counting on them both. 

He could tell this was his Father; his vampiric powers tingling along Alucard’s senses. But Alucard was still somewhat shaky as he approached. Dracula didn’t move as Alucard sat down on the edge of the bed. He reached his hand out, but hesitated briefly before he let it connect with his Father’s shoulder.

He prayed this was the reality now. He didn’t know if he had the strength to deal with any more of his Father’s nightmares. His own heart felt fragile and brittle under the burden of all the pain he’d witnessed.

The moment his hand touched the hard muscle of Dracula’s shoulder, the vampire twitched and took in a deeper breath. Then he turned over onto his back, one hand rubbing at his face.

“Alucard?” Dracula sounded groggy, not quite awake yet.

Alucard closed his eyes and took another slow, shuddering breath. 

This had to be real. 

“Father. It’s time to wake up,” he said quietly. 

It took effort, but he kept all the unsettled heartache out of his voice. Watching what his Father had gone through hurt like a barb lodged in his chest. The fact Alucard had believed for so many years that Gabriel wasn’t much different from Dracula, hurt even more. Seeing Gabriel’s fears, seeing Geralt die, _again_, was just as bad. 

He swallowed it down, and shouldered on. “Your servants need you, and Geralt and I have missed you.”

Dracula frowned.

“I think…I slept?”

A little shudder worked its way down Alucard’s spine. Dracula didn’t remember. 

That was probably for the best.

“You did,” Alucard said with a nod. “But now it’s time to wake up.”

Despite Alucard's best efforts, Dracula seemed to notice that something was off anyways. A little wrinkle appeared on his brow and he looked Alucard up and down, considering him. 

“You fought,” he said, reaching out a hand to brush of a bit of dried blood off of Alucard’s face. Probably where the power Gabriel was emitting had cut him.

There was no sense in denying it, so Alucard nodded. “It was…mildly challenging to reach you. But I was in no serious danger.”

That was true enough, anyways. Gabriel didn’t mean to kill him, not really. He was just venting his rage and agony, and Alucard was a convenient target. Most of the pain that Alucard felt wasn’t physical either, so that hardly counted.

Dracula frowned.

“Is Geralt safe?”

“He is,” Alucard said, a small smile tugging at his lips. “He is with Eskel at my tower, recovering and waiting for our return.” 

It was tempting to mention that Iga was there, too, but that would mean Alucard would have to explain why she was in Castlevania City, and right at that moment that was something Alucard was not up for. Dracula would get the whole story from his servants soon enough. 

“You brought the castle into Geralt’s world,” Alucard half claimed, half asked. He wasn’t sure that he wanted to delve too deeply into Dracula’s state of mind prior to this whole mess, but he needed to verify this little fact, nonetheless.

Dracula brightened immediately and a tiny smile pulled at his lips.

“Did you see how nicely I fit Kaer Morhen in? As close to the center as I could without destroying the main part of the castle. I even managed to fit in most of their valley, too. I figured they would appreciate some space to run around.”

Alucard could feel his eyebrows climbing up at the pride wafting off of Dracula. As exasperated as he was at all of the disruption that the castle move had no doubt caused, it melted away in the face of how pleased Dracula was. Seeing him so tickled about his solution was a very nice change from the desperate, viciously miserable Gabriel. 

“I have not seen it yet,” Alucard said after a moment. “I came straight here.” He closed his eyes and rubbed his temple. Exhaustion dragged at him again. As pleasant as it had been to sleep with Geralt for a few hours, something he would have to thank Eskel for later, this whole week had been sorely taxing. 

There was also the fact that the castle had a tendency to warp time. It was impossible to tell how long he’d been delving in Dracula’s dreams, searching for him. Hopefully not too long. 

Probably not, otherwise Geralt would be here himself, banging down the door searching for them.

“Were you worried for me?” Dracula seemed even more pleased, reaching up and touching Alucard along the jaw.

“Very much so,” Alucard said softly as he leaned into that warm hand. 

“I don’t remember what I dreamed about, but I definitely like what I woke up to.” Dracula shifted again, changing his grip to Alucard’s shoulders and pulling him slowly, insistently down.

“Do you know you dreamed?” Alucard asked. He wasn’t really sure that he wanted Dracula to remember the nightmares he’d just walked through.

Dracula pulled Alucard until he ended up stretched out on top of him. As soon as he was in range, Dracula started kissing his cheeks and his forehead, purring gently in pleasure.

Dracula paused for a moment and frowned.

“I know I dreamed. I don’t remember what.” A few notes of tension crept into Dracula’s voice.

“It doesn’t matter,” Alucard said, shaking his head a little. “We’re here now.”

“I love that you are here,” Dracula murmured, shifting to make sure Alucard was resting comfortably against his chest. 

He ran his hands over Alucard’s armored coat and up until he could touch Alucard’s hair. He slowly gathered the wavy mass of it up into a loose ponytail, making sure each strand was moved away from Alucard’s face. His red eyes looked dark and soft, softer than usual. 

“You look tired,” he murmured, stretching up to kiss Alucard’s cheek, then his jaw, and under it. There was a careful nudge of energy as Dracula’s power probed and pushed at his armor, unexpectedly gentle in trying to dissolve it.

Alucard loved this, loved each small touch and how warm Dracula was under him. How relaxed. He braced his palms against his Father’s chest, arching his head back to let Dracula kiss under his jaw and sighed.

With a purely mental flex of his power, he yielded under Dracula’s influence and let his armored coat and clothes dissolve around him. Now he was naked on top of Dracula’s body, with nothing but a sheet between them.

“It’s been a long week,” Alucard said quietly, turning into Dracula’s soft touches. “I’ve missed this. Your hands on me.” A little shiver worked its way through him as Dracula’s burning hot hands caressed over his chilled skin. Dracula was always so warm. “I think I am getting spoiled.”

Dracula rumbled quietly in laughter. “Oh?” 

There was a smile in Dracula’s voice, but Alucard had closed his eyes, the better to relish the feel of Dracula’s lips on his neck. Soft, little kisses peppered down his jaw, over his throat and the pulse in his neck, and down to his shoulder.

“Oh, yes. I hadn’t realized how much I wanted to touch you. You, Geralt, Eskel. Not until I couldn’t.” Alucard trailed one hand up Dracula’s neck and dug his fingers into the skin there, just a little. Just enough to hold on, to keep them tightly together.

Dracula tensed under him, rolling them over suddenly. Alucard went with it. He very much wanted the touches to continue.

Dracula braced himself on the bed on both sides of Alucard’s head and dragged his open, wet mouth up Alucard’s neck to his ear, mouthing at the lobe there. It left Alucard shivering at the touch. Those lips were so warm and gentle as they traced the shell of his ear. It made a thread of pure want shoot right down to his groin.

“I love touching you,” Dracula purred, rubbing himself over Alucard’s body like a big cat, heavy and confident.

Alucard trailed his hands over his Father’s sides and onto his powerful back, feeling how the muscles there tensed to keep Dracula in position. Their legs were tangled together. The bedsheet was still between them, but that didn’t stop Alucard from feeling all down Dracula’s bare back. He dragged his hands over the dips and valleys of Dracula’s body, enjoying the smooth, warm skin.

“Eskel likes you touching him, too.” Alucard laughed suddenly, remembering how conflicted Eskel seemed. “You appear to be well on the road to seducing him.”

Dracula lifted himself up on his arms. It was extremely distracting. The way his chest and arms flexed at the move, the delicious swell of his muscles that lifted his powerful body so easily. Alucard wanted to press his mouth there, to feel each curve of muscle with his lips. Maybe bite a little, too. Heat slowly, gently curled up in his chest, reminding him just how much he desired his Father under normal circumstances. Now, after all that he witnessed, he was doubly thirsty for touch, for contact. For reassurance that Dracula was fine again and his balance had been restored.

“You talked about it?” Dracula sounded both baffled and curiously pleased.

Alucard huffed out a laugh.

“You should talk to him. Poor man seems very confused right now.”

Dracula hummed at him, sounding both smug and speculative. “And what do you want with this situation?” he asked, trailing his gaze down Alucard’s neck and chest. After a moment of thought, he leaned in to lay a kiss right onto the hollow of Alucard’s throat. “Do you want to watch us together?”

Alucard blinked, surprised by the offer.

“I like Eskel,” he said after a moment. “I find the thought of watching you take him…attractive.” Alucard blushed, feeling the warmth prickle at his cheeks. “Yes.”

“I think he likes your touch better than mine,” Dracula said in between kisses. “Perhaps you’d want to hold him while I take him?” Another soft, wet kiss landed right on the pulse of his neck. “Or perhaps you and Geralt would like to watch? Or…” He shifted into Alucard, rubbing their jaws together. “Perhaps you want to touch Eskel yourself. Taste him as you did before, while I hold you both.”

Alucard laughed.

“You are generous,” he said. “But I think you are overstretching. Eskel is not like Geralt. I think whatever happens between you, has to first be only between you.”

Dracula paused for a very brief moment, and then resumed his careful kisses. He smoothed one hand down Alucard’s side and cupped his hip. “And what do you think Geralt would say to this?”

“Eskel has been a brother to him most of his life,” Alucard said after a moment of thought. “I think if they were meant to be lovers, they would be already.” He made sure to smooth his hand down his Father’s back to ease the sting of those words. He didn't think there would ever be real attraction between Geralt and Eskel, but he wasn't always the best judge of those things.

“Hmm. I still haven’t asked him if he minds me fucking his witchers,” Dracula mused thoughtfully. “Eskel is…he has become closer to us than I expected.” He mouthed along the tendons in Alucard’s neck, dragging his teeth over the skin without putting an ounce of pressure on it.

Alucard shivered gently at the sensation.

“He’s mine now,” Dracula murmured. “I want to mark him in all the ways I possibly can.”

That made Alucard huff in amusement. “The mark on his chest isn’t enough?”

Dracula rumbled out a laugh, right into the soft skin under Alucard’s jaw, his breath hot and moist on Alucard’s skin.

“Nothing is ever enough. I want my name on his skin, on his soul. I want my scent on his clothes, my come inside him, my name on his lips. I want it _all_.”

Another shiver raced through Alucard. That was exactly what he expected of his Father. It was always all or nothing with him. To be honest, it was a little surprising how much of a gentleman Dracula had been about it all so far, waiting for Eskel to give in on his own. 

_Mostly_. Alucard thought of the deal that weighed on Eskel’s soul. He could sense it, but Alucard had already been so steeped in Dracula’s power for so long that sensing it in other places was second nature. No doubt Geralt sensed it, too, though how much or what he made of it, there was no telling.

“Does he know that he’s already struck a deal with you?” Alucard asked. While Dracula tended to be extremely blunt and obvious with his actions, he was capable of great subtlety as well. It was clear to Alucard that when the deal was struck, Eskel had no idea. Now, though, perhaps they’d talked about it. “His soul is still his, but you’ve done…something. I can sense it.”

Dracula hummed, rubbing his face over Alucard’s face like a cat marking his territory.

“It was nothing he wasn’t already doing. Now he just gets a little extra comfort for it as well.” The words were spoken directly against his skin. The warm breath made him shiver as it fanned over his neck.

“But does he know?” Alucard pressed.

There was a worryingly long pause as Dracula thought out his answer. “I think he suspects,” he said finally.

“But you haven’t told him.” Alucard said.

“He hasn’t asked, either,” Dracula defended.

Alucard shook his head, amazed at his Father’s antics. He probably should be more worried about it, but he knew Dracula meant no harm to Eskel.

“How you even managed to get him to agree to the deal in the first place, I cannot imagine. He must have made a verbal agreement for the deal to hold.”

Dracula raised up on his arms again, and Alucard got distracted by the wonderful muscles, again. He forgot what they were talking about and slid his hands up from Dracula’s belly to the tensed pecs, cupping them in his hands and feeling how the nipples tightened under his palms.

“I’m that good,” Dracula murmured lowering his face to Alucard's. His silky hair fell all around them, locking them in a tiny, intimate space.

A smile stretched across Alucard’s face. His Father was shameless. Absolutely shameless. 

“I want to mark you too,” Dracula said quietly, his lips brushing over Alucard’s. “I liked you in that hospital bathroom, on your knees for me, your lips around me,” he murmured. “I love it even more when there’s my come inside you.” He shifted above Alucard, carefully settling his weight over him. “When I can mark you in the most primitive of ways.”

Shivers raced up Alucard’s back and his gut clenched tightly for a moment in want. 

“Yes,” he breathed out, arching up into Dracula’s body. He couldn’t move much, but there was a great deal of appeal in that. Having Dracula’s body around him, holding him, filling him. Another shudder of want shook him, and heat clenched in his groin.

They were both naked already, pressed against each other without even the sheets to lend them modesty. 

“I want to be inside you.” Dracula pressed his lips to Alucard’s, and his tongue sneaked out for a quick lick. “I always want to be inside you.”

Alucard moaned and arched into the teasing kiss. The constant interruptions were starting to frustrate him.

“Less talking, more doing,” he huffed when Dracula pulled away from the kiss again. 

His Father laughed and shifted, giving Alucard room to pull the sheets away from their bodies. As soon as there was nothing between them, Alucard arched up into the warmth of Dracula’s naked body, relishing the smooth skin and the heat pouring off of him.

“Geralt was right,” Dracula murmured, reaching for the nightstand and the oil he kept there. “You really _are_ picking up all the bad habits.”

“Are you displeased?” Alucard asked with a smile. “Should I tease you for days instead?” He tilted his head. “I’m not sure I’d know how, but I bet Geralt would show me.”

Dracula had the gall to look offended.

“I always deliver!” he protested with an air of wounded innocence. The effect was somewhat ruined by how his hand found Alucard’s knee and started gently nudging it aside.

“And how,” Alucard had to agree, opening his legs to make space for Dracula to move in. 

Dracula wasn’t one for moderation usually, and this time wasn't any different. He pulled the cork out of the bottle with his teeth and spilled the whole contents of it onto Alucard’s belly and still soft cock. Alucard hissed and flinched from the cold liquid, but Dracula’s warm hand was already there. He pressed it flat over Alucard’s cock and belly, massaging in slow little circles to spread the oil around. Within moments, Alucard could feel his cock starting to plump up, making the sensation more intense. 

The smell of the herbs that the oil was made from filled up the room, adding into Dracula’s fiery scent that already saturated the bed. It was Geralt’s oil, and it tickled something inside of Alucard to know that he would soon be scented with both of his lovers.

“Oh,” Alucard whispered and pressed his head back against the pillows. His eyes fluttered at the feel of Dracula’s hands on him and the aromas filling up his head.

“I’m going to take care of you,” Dracula promised.

He lowered himself onto one elbow and pressed their lips together. Then he licked in, soft and wet. As he took his time exploring Alucard’s mouth with his tongue, his free hand closed around Alucard’s dick and started to pull at it with perfectly tight strokes. His calluses tugged at the sensitive skin, catching on the head as he dragged his slick fist all the way from root to tip, twisting at the end and sending sharp little zings of sensation up Alucard’s spine.

Whatever sounds Alucard made, Dracula swallowed. He never broke his kisses as he licked wetly and gently into Alucard’s mouth. He was hot, so hot over Alucard. His body was radiating heat like mad. It pressed Alucard down into the bed, making him feel safe and cherished.

Dracula let go of his cock, now heavy and hard, and let it rest in the shallow pool of oil gathered on his belly, causing Alucard to gasp and break the kiss. He arched his neck, showing Dracula without words where he wanted to be touched and moaned in appreciation when his Father followed the invitation and put his mouth against his Adam’s Apple. 

He sucked there, hard, no doubt leaving marks. While his mouth worked, his slick fingers slid deeper between Alucard’s legs and two of them circled Alucard’s hole. That just made Alucard moan again, louder this time, and spread his legs wider. He could feel Dracula hardening against his hip, his cock getting hotter, heavier, insistently nudging against him. 

Rather than using his fangs, Dracula sucked harsh little bruises into Alucard’s neck, setting the nerves alight. His hand worked in tandem, and as he worked over Alucard’s neck, he pushed two of his oil slick fingers into Alucard’s ass. The stretch was delicious. It made Alucard moan with wanton approval. He loved it, adored the tingle and the feeling of his muscles giving way under the pressure. 

He clenched down on the invading fingers. Maybe Dracula meant to tease him, because he pulled his fingers out to dip them into the oil on Alucard’s belly again. Then he gave Alucard’s cock a single, teasing stroke before going back between his legs and pushing those wet fingers in again.

There was more of a stretch this time. Dracula had eased three fingers into Alucard’s tight body. The slight burn of it made Alucard’s breath hitch, and made his hips jerk in place. They were so warm inside of him and Dracula’s other hand smoothed down Alucard’s heaving chest, leaving trails of tingling heat across his ribs.

Alucard was panting already, shifting his legs to rub his sensitive inner thighs against Dracula’s hips. He ran one hand through the oil covering his stomach, slicking his palm, and then slid it down Dracula’s belly.

“Let me,” Alucards said hoarsely. 

He reached down until he could wrap his wet hand over Dracula’s hard, heavy cock. It was so thick, such a mouthwatering handfull. As soon as his hand wrapped around Dracula’s length, Dracula’s breathing hitched. That little stuttering movement made Alucard take a quick gulp of air. He licked his lips and then wrapped his other hand around Dracula’s cock as well. 

He wanted it inside him so much. He ached for it. To be filled, stretched open and lost in pleasure. Alucard stroked that heavy cock, hand over hand, reveling in how hard it was as the swollen head pressed against his palms. The movement was loving, worshipful, as he spread oil over every part of it.

“Let me lead you in,” Alucard whispered, his throat dry with desire.

“Always,” Dracula said quietly. He resettled himself between Alucard’s legs.

Alucard bit his lip and closed his eyes to focus better on what he was feeling. He angled his Father’s cock down, pressed the fat head against his hole, and shuddered at the first touch. It kissed his rim, silky smooth against his skin, yet hot and hard at the same time. 

As Alucard urged Dracula’s cock forward with one hand, he spread the fingers of his other hand around his hole, spreading his cheeks apart. His breath was coming out in short pants just from the feel of that swollen head and how it slipped between his fingers. This way he would be able to feel Dracula go into him in two ways, not only at his already twitching hole, but sliding through his fingers, too.

“Please,” he moaned and then promptly lost his voice as Dracula pushed. 

There was only pressure first. Just a bit as his body resisted before the oil and desire made him open up. He hissed at the stretch when the head pushed past the first ring of muscle. Sparks of pleasure zinged up and down his back, coiling tightly in his groin. He could feel his Father’s cock slide against his fingers before going into him, stretching him mercilessly and perfectly. 

Dracula didn't stop until he bottomed out completely, his groin pressed tightly to Alucard’s body with Alucard’s fingers caught between them.

“Oh,” Alucard moaned around the girth of it, the fullness, the way it pressed unerringly against his prostate and stayed there. So good, so heavy, so _big_. He was utterly filled up, stuffed full of Dracula’s cock.

He wanted more hands. More lips. He wanted to lick into Dracula’s partially open mouth and suck at his dark nipples and scratch at his back, all at once. Alucard closed his legs tightly against Dracula’s hips and pulled him closer.

“You are so good for me,” Dracula murmured lovingly. He leaned forward, covering Alucard’s mouth with a kiss and muffling the sounds he was making. Sounds Alucard hadn’t realized were falling out of his mouth until Dracula interrupted them. Alucard sucked at his tongue greedily, shuddering at the way it mimicked the sudden thrusts of Dracula’s cock. 

Alucard managed to get one of his hands free and promptly tangled it into Dracula’s gorgeous black hair. With that leverage, he pulled his Father closer, making him rest more of his weight onto Alucard. It shifted the position enough that the next time Dracula thrust in, his cock dragged over Alucard’s prostate harder than ever. The movement forced a gasp out of him, against Dracula’s lips, and made him clench down hard enough that he made Dracula gasp in turn. 

Everything narrowed down to the slide of his Father’s cock inside him, the stretch of it, the weight of his body over Alucard’s, and the breath they shared through their unending kiss. He was so _full_. The stretch was so good that it felt like he might cry from it. A blistering hot blush covered his cheeks, spurred on by each deep thrust. He clutched at Dracula’s hair and shoulder, holding on like it was his only lifeline.

Dracula was slow, unhurriedly pushing the pleasure up and up, winding up Alucard ever so gently. Each thrust had him buried all the way in, so deep that Alucard thought he wouldn’t be able to breathe around it. Soft, little whines built up inside of Alucard with every stroke; breathy cries of delight that Dracula greedily swallowed up.

Alucard clung to him, wanting only to touch more, to have that big body as close as possible. That only made Dracula growl into their kiss. He threaded a hand up into Alucard’s hair, holding him still while Dracula wrung pleasure out of him. 

Everything was so tight; Alucard could barely move. There was no way to speed up their movement, no way to chase his release as Dracula methodically took him apart. All he could do was take it. Their bodies were slick with sweat and oil, sliding against each other, filling the room with scent of sweat and sex.

His orgasm came slowly, like a long awaited tidal wave. As it rolled over him, it stole the breath right out of him. His body seized as wave after wave of pleasure swamped him. He couldn’t see, couldn’t hear anything. The hot, huge weight of Dracula rubbing up inside of him, all around him, lit his nerves on fire and filled every sense. Every part of him clenched down, his body locking tight on Dracula’s cock with each spasm. His come spilled between them, smearing over both of their bellies.

Dracula growled into the kiss. His tongue still fucked into Alucard’s mouth as he sped up his thrusts, holding Alucard tightly in place as he chased his own pleasure. Alucard gasped and squirmed. Each time Dracula pressed into him, it rubbed him in just the right way, extending his own orgasm and wringing one more spurt out of him. 

He was so lost in sensation, in the pleasure that stole his breath, that he almost missed it when Dracula came. His Father’s body tensed above him. Their kiss broke on a sharp exhale as he, too, shuddered through his own orgasm. Dracula’s cock pulsed and twitched inside of him, spilling hot come and feeling larger with every release. Alucard closed his knees around Dracula as tight as he could and kept him close. He wanted to feel every bit of this, to have as much of it as he could.

Dracula pulled out almost immediately after. His still hard cock pulled at Alucard’s over-sensitive rim before popping free. Alucard could feel it, wet and hot, touching the inside of his thigh as Dracula shifted back. 

Alucard moaned, wrapped his arms around Dracula’s chest, and held on, not letting him pull away any further.

“Don’t go,” he whispered hoarsely. “Please. I want to feel you inside of me.”

Dracula made a low, purring sound and leaned down to bite gently at Alucard’s chin. He nibbled his way down Alucard’s neck and then lower, licking wet stripes over his chest. 

While Dracula teased and nibbled at him, Alucard let one hand slide down between their bodies, between his legs. His fingers just managed to brush the hot, hard length of Dracula’s cock before Dracula moved away. Alucard whined unhappily. Even though he’d already come, he still wanted to feel Dracula’s cock, wanted to touch that silky soft skin and hold the weight of it in his hand. But Dracula was shifting lower, licking over Alucard’s sensitive nipples. The wet, firm strokes of his tongue felt good, sending tiny sparks of sensation through Alucard. 

It wasn’t enough, though. It wasn’t what Alucard truly wanted. He caught onto Dracula’s sides, feeling the hard stretch of muscle over bone.

“Harder,” Alucard whispered, tightening his legs around Dracula’s body and pulling him closer.

To his credit, Dracula didn’t hesitate, didn’t even pause to ask what Alucard meant. He just opened his mouth wide, pressed his blunt teeth against the whole of Alucard’s right pectoral, and dragged them firmly over skin and muscle until his teeth closed against the peaked nipple. He bit down. Not hard enough for true pain, but enough to send a sharp zing of sensation jolting through Alucard’s body. 

He moaned loudly, and his fingers dug into Dracula’s side as he squirmed under the harsh bite. The movement made him all the more aware of the slick between his legs, the ache of his loose hole, and how empty he felt clenching down on nothing.

“Yes,” Alucard whispered hoarsely, pushing his chest up, opening himself more to the untender caress.

Then Dracula let go of the nipple, licked it in apology, and did it all again. And again. And again. Until the whole of Alucard’s chest felt hot and swollen, his nipples so sensitive and achy that he could feel the barest brush of air against them, and every single one of Dracula’s breaths was a wild tangle of sensations.

He had no idea how long it lasted, minutes or hours. He was too busy living in the moment. 

Eventually Dracula moved up again, kissing his way up Alucard’s chest. Those tiny, soft kisses on Alucard’s inflamed skin felt a hundred times more intense. Every breath that fanned over the tender skin was like a completely new caress. 

Dracula kissed up to his neck, pausing to again suck at his Adam’s apple before kissing up to his jaw, and then to his ear. The soft brush of lips against there sent shivers through him, making Alucard twist into the sensation.

“I want to give you everything you want,” Dracula said in a low rumble, lazy and soft as he rubbed his bristly jaw against Alucard’s skin. “You need only show me what you want.” 

Alucard’s nipples and chest tingled, abandoned to the cold air, and he ached to have Dracula’s mouth or fingers there again.

He shuddered, struck by the sudden want to _see_ Dracula do it all again, fuck him slow and deep. He missed watching Dracula come the first time, and he wanted the presence of mind to watch him now. He wanted to see how the pleasure built within him, how he looked when he fucked and when his orgasm overtook him.

“I want to watch you,” Alucard breathed out, letting his hands trail down Dracula’s skin to his belly and then lower to his still wet cock. 

Dracula was mostly soft now, but that didn’t bother Alucard. He knew his Father could will himself into hardness. But this time he wanted to make Dracula hard again with his own hands, wanted to feel that part of him grow under his touch. 

He dragged his palms over his own stomach, gathering the last bits of oil and come there, and then took hold of Dracula’s cock again. He stroked it, slow and slick, feeling it slowly fill out in his hands. It was wonderful, how it swelled up slowly, giving him something large and firm to hold. Dracula was so thick, the skin so soft while being hard as could be at the same time. 

He dragged his palm over the thick head, rubbing over the glans, spreading the oil, and luxuriating in Dracula’s quickened breaths. Dracula’s belly tensed up but his hips stayed still; allowing Alucard to work. His breaths sped up just a little bit and his pupils expanded.

Dracula let his eyes go dark, his lids heavy, and there was just a little bit of his fangs showing between his parted lips. He kept himself in check, though, and wait for Alucard’s move.

“You going to lead me in again?” Dracula asked, his voice rough and low.

Alucard swallowed, strangely affected by the sound of Dracula’s voice. He felt powerful in that moment, amazed by the effect he had on his Father.

“You are beautiful,” Alucard said. It astonished him how willing to comply Dracula was. 

Surprisingly, Alucard’s words caused Dracula to shift just a little. His head tilted archly, and a pleased smile tugged at his lips. He brushed a finger down Alucard’s jaw and breathed out hard through his teeth, showing his fangs a little more.

Alucard pulled gently at Dracula’s cock, pressing the head against his sensitive, swollen hole. Both of them twitched at the contact; Alucard’s rim tightening up minutely while Dracula’s cock jerked in Alucard’s hand. There was still so much slick. His hole was dripping with a mix of oil and come. For all that Alucard couldn’t help but clench down, twitching against Dracula’s cock, he wasn’t as tight as before. His over-sensitive body gave under even the lightest of pressure, opening right up for Dracula. 

“Let me watch you as you fuck me,” Alucard whispered. A blush burned at his cheeks. 

Dracula huffed, and his eyes grew even darker. Slowly, he pushed with his hips. Alucard kept hold of his cock all the way, feeling it slide against his fingers again as it pushed past the resistance of his body.

“I love doing this,” Dracula said roughly, switching his hold to Alucard’s hips and pulling them up to shift the angle. “I love taking you like this.” 

He bottomed out. The wet sound of his cock sinking into Alucard echoed in Alucard’s ears. The stretch wasn’t so overwhelming now, but the feeling of fullness was almost enough to take his breath away. It felt so good, that slow drag of cock inside him. His toes curled and he pulled his knees up, opening more for Dracula.

“You take me so well,” Dracula rumbled. An expression of pleasure came over his face. His eyes were half lidded and his hips worked slowly, pulling out and pushing in, making Alucard feel every inch of his cock. “You fit me perfectly.”

Alucard watched as a slight blush that started at Dracula’s neck crept lower, spreading over his wide chest. He was panting now, his belly working hard with every thrust, muscles tensing and delineating sharply under his skin. Alucard touched him, slid his oily hand over that working muscle and up to his tensed chest. 

Dracula shifted again, bracing his arms on the bed on both sides of Alucard’s head. It brought attention to the wonderful muscles of his his pecs and arms, and how they bunched and worked with every thrust. Alucard moaned out a helpless little sound at every push in. Each time Dracula’s cock dragged over his prostate, it sent sparks of unbearable pleasure up his spine. He was soft, though. The exhaustion of the last week still dragged at him. Despite that, he loved this. Loved being able to just feel Dracula inside him, feel that heavy cock thrusting in slowly and deeply, filling him in perfectly. 

He ran his hands over the hard swell of Dracula’s shoulders. Curled his palms around the tensed biceps, dragged his fingers across Dracula’s flexing pecs, and paused to rub at his dark nipples. Dracula’s head was lowered, his mouth open as he panted through the pleasure and the effort.

Alucard kept rubbing at Dracula’s nipples, feeling the skin heat up under his hands and the buds grow firm. 

“I love you doing this to me,” Alucard whispered. He tightened his knees around Dracula, enjoying the rub of skin against the inside of his thighs. He wished, suddenly, that there would be marks left, that his skin would be left abraded and sore so that he could feel the shape of Dracula’s body between his legs for hours to come. “Stretching me, filling me, taking me as if it’s your right.”

Dracula lowered himself down, pressing his weight over Alucard’s body and pressed their lips together. His chest rubbed over Alucard’s swollen, sensitive nipples and Alucard squirmed, moaning at the added sensation.

“It is. You are mine,” Dracula said feverishly. His hips sped up, each thrust pushing a sharp ‘oh’ out of Alucard. “To love, to fuck, to break, to cherish. Mine.” He was growling against Alucard’s lips, swallowing the helpless sounds Alucard was making. “I’ll mark you inside and out. Fill you with my come, smear it on you skin. Everybody will know you are mine.”

Dracula sped up again, his hips working powerfully, fucking harder and faster into Alucard and making him whine and hold with everything he had.

When the orgasm came, Dracula groaned out loud. His hips snapped in one last time, grinding there into Alucard’s ass. Alucard whimpered as he felt his Father’s cock swell up again, becoming harder and spilling burningly hot come inside him. Spurt after spurt as Dracula ground into him, trying to get as deep as possible, with his face slack in pleasure.

Alucard pulled Dracula closer and kissed him, licking gently into his mouth as he tried to gentle him through the orgasm.

“I love you,” Alucard whispered between kisses. “I love you so much.” 

Dracula was slowing, his pleasure spent now. Aucard could feel how wet he was between his legs, with oil, sweat, and come slicked all over. The scent of their coupling was potent in the air the air between them. 

Though Dracula was calming, he was still breathing heavily as he let himself down to lay on Alucard’s body. His softening cock slipped out of Alucard’s hole, eliciting even more shivers.

“I hate the pain that you went through, but I am so grateful it let me have this. Let me meet you like this,” Alucard said quietly, overcome by the memory of the torment he witnessed and the love he felt. He couldn’t stand the thought of not having this, not having his Father loving him with all the passion of his dark heart.

Dracula didn’t answer him in words, and some part of Alucard never expected him to, not really. Dracula just dragged his wet lips down to Alucard’s neck, sucking at the sensitive skin under his ear. His hand sneaked between their bodies. His fingers slid between Alucard’s cheeks, rubbing around the swollen and achy hole. 

Alucard shivered and arched into the hard sucking at his neck, realizing Dracula was marking him again. It took him a moment to also realize that the fingers trailing from his hole to his thigh and back were rubbing Dracula’s come into Alucard’s skin. Another way of marking him. Something dark and hot twitched in his chest, turning over inside of him and growing. His breathing hitched and he moaned quietly at the sensation, at the knowledge of how much Dracula wanted him.

Sadly, the scent of come would last longer than any bruises Dracula left on his skin. Alucard just healed too quickly for any love mark to stay for more than a minute or two. That didn’t stop him from wanting Dracula to lick and suck more bruises into his skin. He pressed his cheek into the side of Dracula’s head, urging him closer, asking without words for more. 

The steady pull on his skin sharpened for a moment, and Dracula bit down. Slowly, gently, he eased his fangs into Alucard’s neck, and then pulled back to lick away the few drops of blood that welled up. 

It wasn’t feeding. It was just possession. 

The little spike of pain from the mark was washed away with the pleasure of that claiming. The blood connection between them flared along with the bite, making Alucard’s awareness of Dracula sharpen and then fade to normal between one heartbeat and the next.

Bit by bit, Alucard melted into the bed, too tired to really do more than accept Dracula’s doting affection. That was glorious in and of itself, that he could close his eyes and be taken care of. The heat of their bodies slowly faded as the sweat dried up. Still, Dracula covered his throat, face, and chest with small kisses and little licks. He ran his hands up and down Alucard’s body, keeping him warm.

Just as Alucard was starting to nod off, Dracula nosed at his jaw. “You should come look out the terrace with me. Look at how wonderfully Kaer Morhen fits in the courtyard. I even got part of the river in past the city walls.”

He sounded so damn pleased, too. 

Alucard held back a sigh. It was cold out on the balcony. Bitterly cold, given that it was still winter here. He’d just warmed up, too, snuggled under Dracula’s burning hot body. It was the warmest he’d felt all week. He was so tired that his bones felt heavy and his eyelids were like lead weights. His exhaustion was so great that he started to really wonder just how long he’d been fighting his way through the castle.

Despite all of that, he couldn’t resist how happy Dracula sounded. It was so rare for him to be this delighted that Alucard couldn’t bring himself to dampen the mood at all. 

“Blanket,” he said, trying not to grumble, but maybe failing a little. Alucard groped randomly at the bed next to him, trying to catch hold of something to wrap up in.

Dracula beat him to the punch; he stretched out a hand and one of the heavy blankets at the foot of the bed slithered up into his grasp. From there, Dracula carefully eased Alucard’s exhausted form up to sitting and quickly wrapped the warm fabric around him. 

With one arm still wrapped around his now covered shoulders, Dracula urged Alucard up out of bed and towards the open doors.

“Just look at how cute it is,” Dracula said, sounding so pleased and so happy, Alucard just didn't have the heart to say no.

From where the bed was deep in the bedroom, all he could see was familiar steel grey mountain peaks with ice caps stretching out into the horizon. But standing at the edge of the wide terrace, he could see the distant lights of the castle stretched out below and off to the sides. 

Overlook tower with its waterfalls was to the north; the low hanging cover of clouds around it hiding most of it from anyone on the ground. He saw the old Bernhard wing and Carmilla’s old palace. 

Among all those familiar buildings, places he was used to seeing off of Dracula’s balcony, there was a big empty space. It was filled with a blanket of trees and a lonely river that wound its way through the whole castle. On one edge of that empty, forested area there was a tiny building backed against the dark stone of a small mountain. He could just barely see a few flickering lights there, glowing in the distance.

Kaer Morhen.

It was lovely, Alucard had to admit. The deep woods of the valley softened the harsh lines of the castle architecture. But oddly, it still seemed to fit. Maybe it was the sharp peaks of the pine, or the desolation of winter. Something about it seemed to work, though, and Kaer Morhen had slipped into the patchwork of the castle’s buildings with ease. He wondered if the trees would spread through the city, or if the city structures would slowly spread into the valley. 

He also had to wonder what the other castle dwellers thought of this new addition. The demons that lived in Dracula’s domain were hardly peaceful, though many of the truly disruptive ones had already been killed and eaten. 

“You’re right,” Alucard said, smiling a little. A chill breeze swept across the terrace, and he tightened his blanket around him. “It looks good where it is.” He looked off into the distance, staring at those little lights coming from the keep. “Can they get out?”

Dracula turned to look at Alucard, the strangest expression on his face.

“Uh.”

Alucard looked at him and blinked. Hard. Then he looked back towards the lights of Kaer Morhen. 

He covered his face with one hand and just sighed. 

“What did you do?” Alucard asked. He peeked through his fingers to look at how the moat around the keep was no longer dry but filled with water. Knowing this castle, it probably wasn’t _just_ water, either. 

“When I moved the castle here, I was exhausted. So I ordered a lockdown before going to sleep,” Dracula said, sounding the closest to sheepish Alucard had ever heard him.

Iga had said that things had been locked down for the move. Given how Dracula fell asleep afterwards, that was probably a very good thing. It meant that nothing could run amok while he was recovering. Still, it also meant that whoever was in Kaer Morhen was stuck there. Vesemir, no doubt. Who knew who else in addition to that, though. Perhaps Ciri?

“Do you know how many days ago it was?” Alucard asked idly, turning his eyes to the mountains and the distant walls circling the whole enormous city complex. 

Dracula scratched at his facial hair, very much not looking at Alucard. After a beat he brightened, an idea occurring to him and he looked at Alucard.

“Orlaith will know!”

Alucard tore his eyes away from a cluster of small lights along the _outside_ of the western wall and turned to his Father.

“You better call her up then.” He pointed to the lights. “Because I think that’s an army camp out there.”

\---


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes from Quarra: This is coming out juuuust a couple days early a) for the holiday, and b) so I don't have to think about it over the holiday. Happy Thanksgiving for folks who celebrate, and for everyone else, Happy New Chapter Day.
> 
> Ok, also, an extra note. The fic used to be tagged "Non-Explicit Torture" but things have changed a bit and we get a little bit graphic. So now the tag is just "Torture". It's mildly graphic, but not more so than, say, Geralt's injuries at the beginning of the fic. Just a heads up so folks are aware.

Yennefer smiled serenely at Siegfried of Denesle, Grandmaster of the Order of the Flaming Rose. 

She’d never really gotten involved with their little crusade, their war against all creatures of darkness. Fanatics often brought more trouble than they were worth. It was for that very reason that she kept tabs on them, though. So when Triss had informed her that Geralt’s attackers had a warrant for his death signed by the Grandmaster of the Order of the Flaming Rose, she knew just where to go. 

Castle Barienmurg was the largest castle in Redania---in all the Northern Kingdoms, in fact---and it was built by the Order. It served as their home base and it was where Siegfried spent much of his time. From what she’d heard, Siegfried was not a political creature, and thus he tended to stay away from the royal court in Redania. Instead, he spent his time at Barienmurg, training new recruits and preaching the word of the Eternal Flame. 

His pious and fair reputation was more accurate than she anticipated, because when she arrived and asked for an audience, it was granted within the day. She didn’t even have to rely on beauty or threats. Sort of refreshing, actually.

Yennefer knew that she was lovely. She’d magically cultivated her appearance specifically to her wants and needs. Dark hair, violet eyes, pale skin, and a fine figure. Never again would she be spit upon for being misshapen. More often than not, her looks were as much a weapon as any magic she could wield, and men were fools who thought with their cocks rather than their brains. 

There were a rare few that weren’t swayed by looks, and Siegfried seemed to be one of them. He bowed politely over her hand and a light blush touched his cheeks when he accidentally caught an eyeful of her neckline, but he’d not said a single word about it. Nor did his eyes linger on anything but her face. 

Siegfried himself was a plain man, both in features and decoration. His nose looked like it had been broken more than once over the years, and his sandy blond hair was cut in the short bowl cut favored by knights and monks of various orders. He was armed and armored as a knight of his Order, with pieces of platemail and chainmail shining under his red tabard. The tabard itself held the emblem of the Order, an image of an orange flame with a red rose in its center.

She expected him to take her to an office, or perhaps some kind of private room. To her surprise, he simply led her out to walk along one of the passageways circling the internal courtyard.

After they had walked for a minute or two, Siegfried turned his head to look at her. She could read nothing is expression but earnestness and curiosity. “It is very unusual for a sorceress to seek an audience with me. How may I be of service, m’lady?” 

“Call me Yennefer, please,” she said with a smile. “I am here because of a mutual friend.” Yennefer waited a beat, but Siegfried showed no reaction to that statement. “Geralt of Rivia.” 

That earned her a slightly puzzled look. Either Siegfried was a superb actor, or he truly had no idea about the warrant. 

“Geralt?” He hummed to himself and shook his head. “I have not seen him since we fought years ago.” At her raised eyebrow, he waved a hand at her, placating. “It was not what you might think. There is no enmity between us. Geralt had stumbled across something that the prior grandmaster had been…_involved_ in. It was my duty to protect the head of my Order, to follow his commands and help bring about his vision of peace for the world.” He heaved a sigh. “In hindsight, I think perhaps Jacques was---” He took a breath and seemed to consider his words carefully. “He had been misguided by vanity and folly. He sought to damage those who would be better left to the Light to deal with. Geralt and I did fight, but I know why he acted as he did, and I do not blame him for his actions. He is an honorable man. A good man.”

Wasn’t that a bit of food for thought. She’d heard all about the events in question, of course, both from Geralt and from her contacts in Temeria. Jacques de Aldersberg was a gods be damned raving lunatic who wanted to murder anything with a hint of non-human about it. Geralt killing him had been a mercy for all involved.

“So you have had no dealings with Geralt since then?” she asked. “None at all?”

Again she got a curious look from him. “I have not, and it troubles me that you should ask. Is he well?”

Fucking religious orders. 

Clearly, Siegfried was both the perfect choice and the worst possible choice _ever_ for grandmaster of a military religious order. He practically radiated sincerity. He was a true believer, she could tell. Nothing about him suggested he was anything other than a pious man, from how his clothes were simple, sturdy things, to how his armor and blade shone like they were well used. It showed in how he walked through the castle, too, greeted with smiles and pride as people saw him. 

This also meant that he hadn’t the faintest idea that someone else was scheming against him. It seemed rumor was true. The arena of politics was obviously beyond him.

She sighed. 

“Geralt is not well. Something I’m surprised you are not aware of, since it was your Order that nearly killed him,” Yennefer said, slightly waspishly. 

“What?” Siegfried stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes wide with alarm. “But, why? Witchers are protectors of the people.”

“Surely you’ve heard of what happened in Temeria but a few days ago. You personally sent over a hundred of your warriors and your mages against him.” Yennefer tried to keep her voice even, but likely failed. Even if this hadn’t hurt Geralt, whom she still cared about a great deal, it still would have been an absolute clusterfuck. Temeria held the line against Nilfgaard; a major incident there could have far-reaching consequences.

Siegfried stared at her and his face darkened. There was a tension that ran through him, though not one that felt dangerous. Not yet, anyways. No matter what else Siegfried was, he was a warrior, and she knew she would be wise to remember that. 

“I’ve recently lost touch with many of the chapter brothers in Temeria, though I had not heard why,” Siegfried said with a frown. “I would not have sent them against Geralt. What could I possibly have to gain from such an action?”

“That is the question, isn’t it,” she mused. “The Order hunts non-humans---”

“Some,” he interrupted harshly. “Some of the Order do, but not the ones I train. Not those brothers who are true to the Eternal Flame. The Light loves all who wish to live in peace.”

“There was a warrant, signed by you, calling for his death. And so many of your brothers died trying to carry it out.” Yennefer leaned in closer, letting her words fall to a whisper. “They are all dead. The very land they marched upon has been burned down to the bedrock, and demonic power has soaked into the earth like poison. What were your brothers doing there, Grandmaster?”

Now she got a reaction. Siegfried turned red in the face and he leaned in close to her. “How dare you imply that any member of our noble order would bring about such vile destruction.”

“I imply nothing,” she said with a poisonous smile. “I am merely stating facts. On your signed command, several chapters of your Order gathered together and chased down a witcher. Their plan clearly backfired, and now there is a smoking wasteland where there once was healthy forest and fields.”

“I signed no such warrant,” he said, low and firm. But then he looked down and to the side. The armor on his gauntlets clinked together, betraying a nervous fidgeting. “Since I have become Grandmaster, I have worked tirelessly to spread the word of protection and safety for all. But there are…others within the Order who are fond of less scrupulous methods, and I am not the only one who members of my order look to for guidance.”

_Oh really?_

Siegfried cast a look up and down the corridor, and then nodded towards another hall. “Come. There are things that perhaps you should know, that shouldn’t be spoken of here.”

Now they made their way towards a room that was something like an office. Yennefer had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. They could have just started there. 

“Who else,” she asked the moment the door shut behind them, cutting to the chase. 

“I have heard…rumblings of dissent in the Order.” He held up a hand to her, as if waving off interruptions. “No, I do not know who has started these rumors. At first, I thought it was just leftover vitriol from Jacques de Aldersberg. In his last days, I think he’d gone mad with his hatred and lust for power. He was passionate, though, and he spread his ideas far within our Order. Many agreed with his stance of human purity first. Most of those were killed in the uprising in Temeria, but some remain. As I trained new recruits and reshaped our actions out in the world, I’d hoped these few voices would be drowned out by the calls for peace and the solemn dedication to protecting those in need.”

Yennefer snorted. Right. Because that always worked.

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Truly, you underestimate people, sorceress. They would have come around. But I fear there have been others meddling. There has been talk---not here mind you, but elsewhere in the kingdom---that someone may come to challenge me for the seat of Grandmaster. As of yet, I have heard of no contenders, though.” 

He shrugged, and leaned back onto his desk, resting for a moment. There was a frown on his face and his shoulders hunched up in such a way that it had to be uncomfortable, but he didn’t look panicked. There was no hint of guilt around him, either.

“Do you think there will be a schism?” she asked finally.

“I dearly hope not,” Siegfried said with a heavy sigh. “The people need us, and, as much as I hate to say it, there is another war with Nilfgaard in the not too distant future. The Regency Council has already begun to send not-so-veiled inquiries as to where the Order would stand if such a conflict were to occur. It is not our place to fight wars with men. The witchers are disappearing, and yet there are still monsters preying upon the villagers and farmers. We cannot afford to leave them unattended, though I fear the Council will give us no choice.”

The depth of his conviction was impressive. He really sounded like he cared about the people his Order were supposed to be protecting, never mind that it was the Order themselves that continued to make life harder for witchers. 

A witcher could kill any beast or monster needed, for the right price, but the Order would show up and do it for free. They were far, far less skilled, though. Many of them were young men, sent away from their fathers' land and holdings for being an extra mouth to feed. But by sending them to the Order, the child would be cared for, trained, and bring prestige to the family name. As such, when they were sent off to kill whatever creature needed to die, the casualties were very high. Not only that, but they brought with them the doctrine of the Eternal Flame. 

In its most benevolent form, the worship of the Eternal Flame was a kind, forgiving religion. It sought to bring protection and safety to all innocents, and it was said that the shining light of a blessed candle would banish evil. 

In practice, many people used it as an excuse to call anyone who didn’t look like them a ‘monster’. That conveniently tended to include anyone who worshiped the other gods as well. Witchers often fell on the wrong side of that divide, too.

“I swear to you on the Eternal Flame, I did not order the death of Geralt,” Siegfried said evenly. “We had our differences, but I believe he is a guardian of the Light in this world. I had hoped he would join me in the Order, but I understand that he needed to walk his own path.”

Funny enough, Yennefer believed him. 

That did bring up another problem though, which was now she needed to dig up who actually was responsible for the death warrant. 

“Tell me about your allies and enemies here,” she said after a moment of thought. “Help me find out the cause of this, and maybe we can settle matters for both of us.”

Siegfried mulled this over, and then nodded. “I’ll ask for some wine for us. This may take a while.”

\---

Triss refilled the mug in front of her and shoved it across the table to Thaler. 

They were holed up in the back of Thaler’s pawn shop in Vizima’s Temple Quarter. It wasn’t quite dusk, and most of Thaler’s customers wouldn’t be looking for him for hours yet. They’d have plenty of time for a little chat. 

Ostensibly, Thaler was a fence. Every part of him screamed criminal, with his rough and tumble way of moving, his thick, dirty accent, right down to his shabby, well used clothes. He was exactly the kind of man who would buy anything and then sell it right back to you for twenty five orens more than you got for it in the first place. He was lean and bitter, with a tongue sharper than most people’s swords.

He was also part of Temeria’s Secret Service, King Foltest’s personal spymaster, and a friend of Geralt’s to boot. They’d spent some time working together back before the Order’s uprising, though as far as Triss knew it had taken Geralt a while to ferret out that Thaler was more than he claimed to be. Eventually he did, though, and the two had stayed allies ever since. 

“The fuck did Geralt get involved with,” Thaler grumbled at her, taking a deep swig of his drink. Triss knew that the harsh slur and slang was all affectation. Just another part of his role. His birth name had long since been erased, lost to time and his own clever, cautious plans. Sometimes, though, he spoke as a highborn would, and he knew more about the noble families' inner workings than even decades of spycraft could account for. 

Whatever his origins, King Foltest trusted him implicitly, and everything Triss had learned about the man had proved that Foltest’s trust was well placed. Thaler was unflinchingly, unwaveringly loyal to the crown. 

He was also wickedly good at his work, and knew more about clandestine affairs in the Northern Kingdoms than anyone else Triss knew.

“What have you heard?” she asked. One of the things she both liked and hated about Thaler was that there was nothing but the job for him. He had no personal prejudices, that she could tell. Not against women, which was uncommon, nor against sorceresses, which was even more uncommon still. It meant that she could sit here and talk to him as an equal, but it also meant that she couldn’t intimidate or cajole him into revealing more than he wanted. 

He could get drunk, though. _Eventually_. The man drank like he’d mummified his liver in a lich’s phylactery. It was no wonder why he and Geralt got along so well; they must have spent many a night drinking each other under the table. Triss knew better than to bother trying. Luckily, she didn’t need to. Her position on Foltest’s Advisory Council allowed her to simply be upfront with what she wanted.

Given the subject at hand, he probably would be thrilled to help her figure out what was going on.

Thaler hummed at her and took another drink. “I’ve heard the Order is making waves again, though what exactly is going on there is unclear. They aren’t making any moves against the Crown, and they certainly aren’t making any moves here in Vizima. My agents have informed me that some of the Order are spreading more hate about non-humans. Witchers, too.”

“The Monstrum,” she said grimly. That cursed fucking pamphlet. 

Thaler hummed again in agreement. “Seems that Temeria isn’t the only place that it’s being spread. Copies are floating around everywhere in Redania, too. Especially along the coast.” Near where Novigrad was, Triss was certain. “There’s news about a dragon abroad, and rumor is blaming anyone who doesn’t look perfectly plowing human for the cause of it. Elves, dwarves.” He took another drink. “Witchers. Hell, there are even rumors of mages and sorceresses stealing their energy from demonic forces.”

He raised an eyebrow and gave her a dry smirk. 

“They’re grasping at straws,” Triss scoffed, sipping her own drink. 

“Obviously,” he said with a snort. “But people are starting to worry. No one has seen a greater dragon in Redania in living memory. Not in Temeria, either, though I suspect that Brokilon might hold something of its like.”

That wasn’t good news. Not unexpected though, and for a number of reasons. It was part of an unsettling trend that had been building for decades. Humans were driving out the Old Races, and tensions were extremely high. More so in cities where everyone had to interact with each other. 

Even here in Vizima, non-human races were relegated to the non-human district. There were no laws that forced them there; just simple bigotry. For the most part it was a poor area, and one that wasn’t well patrolled by the city guard. It was a recipe for trouble, and Vizima wasn’t the only city where such areas were common. When something new and frightening showed up, people inevitably turned on the folks they despised anyways as the cause of the new hardship.

But Vizima was a long ways away from Novigrad, and rumors of the dragon that had shown up there were just that: rumors. Each retelling more fanciful than the last. 

To see the hatred for non-humans stoked up again was somewhat out of character for this area. _Especially_ the hatred against witchers, who normally escaped such treatment. Vizima was the capital of Temeria, and King Foltest had made no secret of how much he liked and respected Geralt of Rivia. To see the Monstrum circulated in his city was highly unusual. 

It just added to the creeping dread that had become an unpleasant staple of Triss’s life. Dracula had _destroyed_ a massive amount of land. All of that terrible power was just barely held in check, and at any time it could start to lay waste again. All because Geralt had nearly died.

The Monstrum was a part of that, and every second those pamphlets were on the street only increased the chance that more danger would head Geralt’s way. 

“Someone is directing this. Any leads on who?” she asked.

Now Thaler smiled, a wicked, vicious stretch of his thin lips that did nothing to dissuade Triss from thinking about liches. “Oh, aye, lady. My boys found the man himself. And after a serious, heartfelt baring of the soul, he confided in me that he was working for a man named Krizkirt.” Now Thaler leaned in over the table, speaking low and fast. “Krizkirt is a black market arms dealer, known for smuggling various military goods across the Yaruga River, and out of Nilfgaard.”

“A man like that could have easily gotten a rather large amount of poison across the border. Enough to supply a couple hundred troops with poison arrows,” Triss said absently, tapping her fingers on her mug.

“Without a doubt. Tell me,” Thaler said grimly, jerking his chin forward to urge her on.

“When the Order attacked Geralt, they had poison arrows. Someone I know identified the poison as one that originates in the Nilfgaardian Empire. It’s common enough that it wouldn’t be possible to trace it to a specific maker, but the ingredients wouldn’t survive in the colder climates of the Northern Kingdoms.”

“Isn’t that interesting,” Thaler mused, taking another heavy swig of his drink. “Not just that the Order was supplied with poison, but also that Geralt managed to survive a small army coming at him.” Thaler’s eyes grew narrow and cold as he stared at her. There something dark in that gaze, and right then Triss felt as if every bit of her was being weighed and measured, as if for sale at a later date. “You know something, sorceress. Something dangerous.” 

But Triss had been dealing with unpredictable powers all her life, and it would take more than one little spy to frighten her. No matter how ruthless or well connected the man was. 

She smiled at him. “Of course I know something dangerous. How do you think I got to be a sorceress in the first place.”

Casual as could be, she sipped her wine and waited to see what his next move would be. 

It took another minute, but some of the callous calculation went out of his gaze. He leaned back in his chair and finished off his drink. She poured him another. 

Whatever train of thought Thaler had been entertaining, he’d clearly set it on the back burner because he promptly got the subject back on track. “Now as far as I know, Krizkirt isn’t an agent of Emperor Emhyr. What he _is_, is up for sale, doing jobs on both sides of the river for whoever has enough gold to make it happen.”

Triss knew better than to expect that Thaler wouldn’t go looking into more information about Geralt later, but that couldn’t be helped. The comment about the poison was a bungle on her part, and now it was an irreversible one. Barring his death, Thaler was too good an agent to let anything so unusual go, especially when that tidbit was related to a newly blackened field of death on his country’s south-western border. 

But that was an issue for another time. She had more terrifying things to worry about right now. 

“So you’re saying someone paid Krizkirt to send people into Temeria to rile up the populace against witchers?” Triss said with a frown. 

“Indeed.” Thaler took a swig. “I’ve sent a group of Blue Stripes to go check it out, not only to see who Krizkirt is working for, but where else his little shit stirrers have gotten to.” He leaned forward again, settling his ferociously intelligent gaze on her once more. “In the meantime, something happened earlier today to every mage I know. They all got hit with the nastiest headache they’d ever had. What do you know about it?”

Here was another tricky point. How much to tell him? Too much and it may bring Geralt and the other Wolf witchers even more trouble. Not enough, and Thaler would know she was being disingenuous. He had enough contacts that eventually he’d find out some of the story anyways, so whatever she said would need to be able to stand up to double checking.

“Something happened in Kaedwen,” she said. “What, exactly, I’m not sure. I haven’t scryed, and based on the backlash from that energy manifestation, trying would probably knock me out cold.” She shrugged. “I can try to get in touch with the Lodge members in Kaedwen. I’d go myself, but matters here have already claimed my attention.”

Thaler looked at her, and again she got that feeling of icy calculation.

“Kaedwen, huh. So this doesn’t have anything to do with our own little magical wasteland along the border to Brokilon.” 

Fuck. 

“What would make you think that?” she asked, tilting her head in curiosity.

“Stands to reason, doesn’t it.” He took a sip of his drink, and raised his eyebrows at her. “Two major magical events in the same week. There are a limited number of people powerful enough to pull off a stunt like what happened here in Temeria. Or group of people, perhaps. Tell me, what does the Lodge think of that? You sorceresses don’t like to share your power.”

“The Lodge has always worked for the good of Northern kingdoms,” Triss was stalling, giving herself some time to think. Objectively, there was no way to hide the existence of the new castle in Blue Mountains. It was, simply speaking, too large. The reports she got from Ciri said the structure was actually bigger than Ard Carraigh, the capital city of Kaedwen. It had completely walled off a section of the Blue Mountains, swallowing Kaer Morhen whole. 

In the end, she went for a shade of the truth. 

“We’re still unsure of how this will play out. The kind of power needed to do something like this could have been easily used in a more destructive way. But it wasn’t. I think we’ll have to wait and see what the next move is.”

Thaler hummed at her noncommittally. “Bet Henselt is pissed.”

“What doesn’t piss that bastard off?” Triss took a sip of wine and grimaced. She had no great fondness for King Henselt, nor for the sorceress assigned to his court by the Lodge. Sabrina was powerful, there was no doubt about it. She and Yennefer were rivals, of a sort. Friendly enemies, one might say. But Sabrina also had a way of making Henselt listen to her, which was no mean feat. Henselt himself was a hotheaded bully who was used to getting his way. Dracula showing up in his backyard would infuriate him. 

The fact Dracula could be just as much of a hothead did not bode well for anybody, because as powerful as Henselt was, he was no match for a King of Hell. Humans needed at least seventeen years to raise a soldier. Nine months for pregnancy and sixteen years to train the soldier who would need to be clothed, fed, and paid in that time. Demons seemed a much cheaper army to her and she could bet Dracula didn’t have to worry about remaining popular among his subjects. Should those two forces collide, it was the humans that would come out the worse for it.

Not only that, but an armed conflict with Dracula would all but doom the Northern Kingdoms. It was only through their combined efforts that they managed to stave off Nilfgaard. Dividing their forces on two fronts would only leave them all open to attack from the south.

That also didn’t take into account the possible reaction of the non-human races. It was very possible that those creatures who’d been constantly abused and pushed out of their territories might look upon Dracula and see their savior in him. 

So far, the non-humans had never been organized. Each race, the ones more or less sentient anyways, had always kept to themselves. Only Dwarves, Elves, and Dryads had ever organized. All the dozens of other sentient species were never numerous enough to matter. But they also never had any real hope to win against the more numerous and more powerful humans. Dracula’s arrival could change that, could take the edge away from humans. She wondered what would happen once the great powers in the world realized this.

Thaler barked out a harsh laugh. “That’s true enough.” He drained his mug in one long pull and smirked at her. “I’ll see what my contacts can dig up. Let me know what you find on the matter, too.”

“Of course,” Triss said with a smile. She knew a dismissal when she heard one, and stood up to take her leave. 

As much as she wanted to dig into the issue herself, she had the aftermath of the destruction in the south west to deal with. She’d have to trust Thaler and Ciri to get her the information she needed, and then get it to Yennefer. Hopefully between them all they could unravel what was going on here before it devolved into another war.

Or worse.

\---

Letho of Gulet panted and gritted his teeth so hard that he thought they might crack. Some might have already cracked, not like he was in any condition to be able to sense a fucking tooth anymore. Sweat stung his eyes and pain flooded his senses. He could barely see through it. 

They’d started easy with whips and beating, but they’d long since gotten to the hard stuff. Burns covered his chest and back. Bones were broken, one at a time. He got doused with so much saltwater the cuts and burns screamed at him constantly with how much salt was stuck in them.

His arms were currently stretched out above him. He was on the rack. There wasn’t enough tension to dislocate anything yet. 

Yet. 

And all the while the men who held him kept asking him the most _asinine_ questions. 

He’d thought that they’d picked him up for another reason. He’d thought that Henselt had somehow, magically, _miraculously_, stumbled onto his actual job here.

But no. All they wanted to know about was stuff that Letho had never even heard of.

Demon city? What the fuck did Letho know about a demon city?

It galled, even more than letting his guard down and getting tattled on by a fucking innkeeper, that they kept asking questions he had no answer to. Letho hated not being the one with all the information, the one in control.

Even more infuriating than that was the fact that he’d somehow gotten arrested and tortured for someone else’s fuck up. They weren’t even after Letho! They kept asking him about Kaer Morhen, as if he’d ever even fucking been to the Wolf witcher keep.

He was so fucking pissed at the whole situation that he lied even more flamboyantly than he normally would have. 

This had predictable results. Painful and predictable. 

Letho was no stranger to torture. He would hold out as long as he could.

Pain was an old companion to him. This wasn't his first, second or even his tenth turn on the rack. He would survive, one way or the other, and he would heal. In the meantime he was going to make the torturer get into the deepest possible shit he possibly could for not getting what he was supposed to.

Between the screams and the suffering and the lies, he did notice that there were more breaks than he expected. Specifically, the men in charge of working him over very frequently got pulled out of the room to go deal with a runner from his royal majesty.

Apparently Henselt had a bug up his ass to get some answers, and was making his displeasure known. That brought Letho a small ember of satisfaction to hold tight in his chest. 

It was also clear that the men here had no idea what a witcher could do. Every single time they got taken out of the room to get bitched out by their superiors, Letho listened in through the stone wall. 

Granted, this was getting more and more difficult as the pain got harder and harder to deal with. But it at least brought him more information about what was going on. 

“...how we get through the walls?!” the visitor demanded.

“That mutant freak won’t even admit there _are_ walls, let alone a whole fucking dark city,” the head torturer griped. “I’m telling you, he doesn’t know shit. He would have broken by now.”

Not fucking likely. Letho wanted to huff in laughter, but all he managed was a wet, bloody sniff.

“Just get a fucking mage to look at it,” the torturer continued.

“There’s no way to get in, there’s no way to _see_ in. The mages are fucking useless. Everyone who tries to scry ends up passed out bleeding.”

“How is that my fucking problem?”

“It’s your problem because his majesty ordered a damn army up there. They’re gonna lay siege.”

There was a long, shocked pause.

“You’re shitting me.”

“No.”

“...That whole fucking place just appeared out of nowhere, bigger than Ard fucking Carraigh, and Henselt wants to start a _seige?!_ There ain’t shit up there to squabble over and everyone knows it. Just trees and rocks and a broke ass witcher keep.”

“And if you don’t get us some useful intelligence, you will be the one on the rack next,” the voice was scared and angry enough that Letho had no trouble believing him. 

The fact the torturer seemed to be getting his ass handed to him was a balm on Letho’s soul, if not on his wounds. He wouldn’t break, if only to die in the satisfaction of dragging his torturer down with him.

There was low cursing from the torturer.

“You’ve got until the army is ready to portal over there, then you need to pack that piece of shit witcher up.”

“What?”

“You’re all coming with us. King’s orders.”

That did not sound good. Letho’s experiences with mages was limited, but he knew enough to either kill them or keep away from them. The things they could do to a person’s mind didn’t bear thinking about. If there was one thing that truly terrified him, it was the chance of losing his mind and will to some fucking spell.

“Fuck,” the torturer muttered again. “How long do you think?”

“‘Nother couple hours. Tops.”

There was a heavy sigh. 

“Alright. I’ll see what I can do. But no promises. This git don’t know shit and that is not our fault.”

“Go do your fucking job.”

Footsteps and a distant door slammed. 

Another couple hours. 

Letho could survive that. He had to. He had a mission to finish.

\---

Night did not agree to take Palo and Mika back to their village, no matter how many bribes Vesemir offered her. The mare wouldn't even leave the stables, stubbornly confining herself to the stall that Vesemir had assigned to her when she’d first got to the keep. She didn’t even go to try and hunt for small critters.

At first Vesemir was annoyed, but after a while he started to wonder. All the rest of Dracula's servants were nowhere in sight. Maybe their disappearance had something to do with why she wouldn’t go out. Clearly she wanted to. Every time a bold mouse ran by or a bunny hopped by the door to the courtyard, she strained her neck towards it and sighed. 

It got to the point where Vesemir and Lambert took turns practicing their archery on whatever wandered by just to feed her their kills. She seemed to appreciate the effort, but still looked despondent. Her big, red eyes sadly followed them whenever they wandered through.

Lambert seemed to get an incredible amount of joy from tossing his kills at her and watching her jump to snap it out of the air. It seemed like Lambert and Night were surprisingly well suited. His energy took up her attention, and she seemed to make him laugh.

There wasn’t much else to do, though. Ciri wasn’t willing to risk a coma by testing her magic against the city’s wards. Vesemir still felt uncomfortable leaving Palo and Mika unattended in the keep, though now he had Ciri and Lambert to help mind them. 

At least he was able to get some chores done.

For lack of anything better to do, Vesemir recruited Mika and Palo to do kitchen chores and minor repairs. Night had left quite a mess in the upper floors, and while the stonework repairs would have to wait, the woodwork could be done right away. With the three of them working, they were able to get through far more work than Vesemir expected, and by the end of the first day they’d fixed all they could.

The next day, Vesemir conscripted them for some of the outside chores. Chopping wood, setting traps, and upkeep on some of the outbuildings. 

For their part, Mika and Palo seemed happy enough to lend a hand. They were probably thinking it was better than getting eaten by demons. Whatever the reason, Vesemir was grateful they didn’t kick up more of a fuss. The last thing he needed was them wandering off and falling down a pit or through a broken floorboard in one of the rough parts of the keep.

Though, to be honest, Vesemir hadn’t really seen a lot of those types of places lately. The boards all seemed sound, and every time he turned around there was less and less decay. Less rubble in the far stairwells, and no windows empty of glass. 

He still didn’t want the humans wandering around unattended.

Especially near the moat. The gods be damned moat that had not only been filled with fast flowing water, it also had a large, spiny _thing_ inhabiting it. The last thing he needed was the beast to eat one of the humans who wandered onto the bridge unawares.

Vesemir found himself staring into the water late at night, after the first full day that Lambert had been at the keep. 

Mika and Palo had retired to their assigned room, and Vesemir sat on the top of the forward battlements, looking down at the churning water. The night was cold, and the sky was dark with clouds; barely a hint of stars were peeking through. Still, Vesemir’s keen witcher eyes followed the slow moving beast in the water, watching as its spines rippled at the surface.

His hearing wasn’t as good as maybe some of his students, but Vesemir still heard Lambert’s approach. 

Lambert sat with him for a long while before saying anything. 

“I don’t think they would mind the company,” Lambert said, pointing at the water. He was talking about the bones of the dead. All those who Vesemir had tossed in the moat, the ones who’d died in the massacre. 

“We all keep the company of monsters now,” Vesemir said with a dry snort. The humor of the statement fell flat, though, and his mouth twisted into a bitter frown. 

He was warm enough in his cloak, and in his arms curled the little black cat. She’d followed him out, but looked miserable on the cold stone next to him. So he’d picked her up, keeping her tight to his armored chest. He could feel her shivering gently against his hold.

Lambert again fell silent. After a minute he tried again. “Given our new neighbors, I’m not sad about the extra protection.” He looked around to the high black walls looming in the dark.

That was true enough. Vesemir petted the shivering cat’s head, rubbing along its ears. He watched the dark water swish under him, swirling around the unnamed horror that now lived there.

“If I catch it disturbing our brothers, my children, I’m jumping in the damn moat to gut it myself,” Vesemir said quietly. The low words held very little of the churning unrest that the sight of the full moat had stirred up.

“Seems reasonable,” Lambert said easily. He waited a moment, then put a hand on Vesemir’s shoulder. “Come in and have a drink with me. Your cat is cold.”

“It’s not my cat,” Vesemir protested. 

Lambert raised his brow and looked pointedly at the way Vesemir was protectively pressing the cat against his chest.

“She’s still fragile,” Vesemir defended weakly, hastening his steps to get away from Lambert’s judging gaze.

“Of course,” Lambert agreed. He didn’t even try to disguise his amusement.

They’d gone in and warmed up by the kitchen fire. Vesemir had placed the little cat on her pillow on the hearth, but once again, she snuck into his bed sometime in the night. He’d woken up with her curled into his side, and she proceeded to follow him around for the rest of the day.

He drew the line at letting her on the counter while he was making dinner. Despite her meowing protests, she’d gotten placed on a high stool off to the side while he, Ciri, and Palo fixed up a meal. Lambert and Mika sat at the table, idly playing a game of cards while they waited. They’d clean up after the meal, so the workload was shared.

Vesemir froze, sensing something unearthly happening. Ciri and Lambert had frozen in place, too. No doubt they felt it as well. A second later, Palo and Mika followed suit.

There was a tingling in the air, like a thrum that went through everything. The floor, the walls, them. It was as if the night itself took a deep breath and held it. 

Then lights appeared outside the kitchen window. Vesemir could see them pop up one by one, far off in the distance. He quickly walked over to get a better look at what was happening outside.

Some of the lights were ghostly blue, some warm and golden. They shone in the windows of the dark buildings scattered along the wall and the mountains surrounding them, and back east beyond the valley. The archways connecting the towers, things that he could only see during the day before, were now illuminated by rows upon rows of lights. Towers that used to disappear into the darkness of the night were suddenly visible, lit up by windows that were glowing with a red hue. Small rivers of lava poured out and down the side of several of the structures, though if they were intended as a light source or for some other purpose, Vesemir couldn’t tell. 

The next thing he noticed was sound. Night was out of the stable and prancing on the stone courtyard. Her claws clanged merrily over the bricks as she ran in happy circles, her tail flagged. 

Vesemir glanced around the room, sharing a worried look with Ciri and Lambert.

“Can you feel it too?” Ciri asked, frowning. 

“As if lightning struck somewhere near,” Palo said quietly, shifting closer to his son.

“Not lightning,” a new voice said. 

Vesemir spun around, a knife in his hand before he even thought about drawing it.

There on the stool, the little cat, his little stray, grew and transformed. Shadows spun around her, swallowing her form as it stretched and solidified into that of a tall, willowy woman. Her eyes manifested first, the same sea green color as the damn cat, bright and clear. Her hair was the palest of blonds, just barely catching the orange glow of the fireplace and the lamps set around the room. It was pulled back in a smooth bun, pierced through by two long spikes. On the end of each spike a few colorful stones shined. She wore long earrings shaped like grapes and sparkling with a variety of colors, only enhancing the willowy length of her neck. 

Her clothes were simple, and dark green. Her tight breeches and high boots looked to be supple suede, and her upper body was wrapped in a long coat. For all that the cut was plain, the fabric and fit were very fine. They did look worn, though. Dusty and frayed at the edges, as if she’d been traveling for weeks. There were dark rings under her eyes, and her face looked thinner than was healthy. She sat perched on the stool, prim and proper as could be.

“Not lightning,” she said again. “It is My Lord waking up.”

“Lord?” Lambert repeated, still staring at the woman.

“Dracula,” Vesemir said, only just starting to realize the cat that slept with him the last few days, that saw him _change_ and _bathe_ was not a cat at all, but this woman. Demon. Her.

She nodded at him and smiled. “The same. He awakens, and the rest of the castle rises with him.”

“And you are?” Ciri asked. Of all of them, she looked the least startled. Vesemir could see it was an act, though. He recognized the lines of tension in her shoulders and the tight, blank look on her face.

“I am Orlaith.” She nodded to Ciri in a short bow. “I am the Steward of the castle.”

Vesemir leaned back and scowled at her. He flipped his knife in the air once, and then slipped it back in its sheath. “You’ve been watching me.”

“You are very pleasant to watch,” she said evenly.

Lambert snorted in amusement. But when Vesemir shot him a glare, he had his mouth covered with one hand, as if just rubbing his mouth and jaw. Not covering up the obviously barely withheld grin.

“Why are you here?” Vesemir asked, turning back to look at Orlaith.

“In this kitchen?” Orlaith tilted her head to look at him curiously. “You brought me here. Once here, I admit, I was quite fascinated. I am bound to the castle, and this is new territory. Part of my domain, but not.” Her gaze swept across the room, lingering on Lambert and Ciri. Then she looked back to Vesemir. Another barely there smile teased at her lips. “And you are My Lord’s lover’s family. It seemed prudent to watch over you.”

Vesemir pinched the bridge of his nose, and sighed. Stone walls, magical appearing cities, demon horses, and now a shapeshifting cat. Was there nothing normal left in this whole damn valley? Should he start looking askance at the chickens next? He dragged his hand down his face and took a deep breath. 

It seemed the rest of the room was waiting for him to make the next move, so he waved at Ciri and Palo to get back to their food preparation. He went back to trimming up the grouse and rabbits they’d caught that day. 

“I was going to set you aside a bit of meat...” Vesemir side-eyed Orlaith, who was still watching him with interest. “But perhaps you’d prefer it in the stew?”

“I am not opposed to raw meat, but stew sounds lovely.” 

Right. Demon. Raw meat likely wouldn’t be much of an issue at all. Vesemir brooded over this new development while he worked.

“Can you tell what’s happening outside the walls?” Ciri asked. 

“To a limited extent, yes,” Orlaith answered. “If you’re asking about the potential army you were speculating about the other day, yes. There is an army waiting at the walls around this valley.” She sniffed in disdain. “Or a sad, pathetic excuse for one, anyways. What paltry numbers. There can’t be more than a few thousand out there. When My Lord’s castle was besieged last, they brought forth half a million armored men, and engines of war as well. My Lord killed them all, of course, but that was at least a solid effort.”

Ciri and Lambert froze for a moment, both looking stunned, while Palo and Mika looked downright terrified. Their eyes were wide and their faces had turned as white as the snow outside. 

Vesemir just shook his head in exasperated resignation. This was the man that Geralt just _had_ to fuck. As soon as he got back from healing up, Vesemir was going to kick Geralt’s ass around the salle for a solid week. Give the boy a real reason to limp.

“They’re just waiting?” Palo asked quietly.

Orlaith turned to him and nodded. “Indeed. There is not much else they can do. My walls are built to withstand far more damage than they can dream of bringing to bear, and with everything else on lockdown while My Lord slept, there was not much I could do to deter them.”

“Stalemate,” Lambert grumbled, tossing down his hand of cards. He grabbed the ones that had fallen out of Mika’s limp grasp and began reshuffling the deck. 

“It was, yes.”

“But now that Dracula is awake, you’re free to respond,” Ciri said shrewdly. She wandered over to the heavy cauldron over the large kitchen fire and tossed in several small piles of herbs and oil, mixing them up in the hot base of the pot. The savory scent of it bloomed in the room, making it seem all the more homey. It was odd, talking about armies at the gates when the kitchen here seemed so peaceful. 

“Indeed, I am.” Orlaith sounded immensely satisfied at that. “Though at the moment I am inclined to bide my time. The castle is self sufficient. They cannot starve us out. They cannot force my walls open, for there is no opening while I will there to be none. They have no advantages here.”

Vesemir finally finished preparing the game, and tossed it in the cauldron to braise along with the herbs. It was a good thing that they’d been successful at the hunt. Six people, two of whom were witchers, would eat a fair amount. 

Which reminded him.

He looked at Orlaith, a slight frown on his face. She did look a bit haggard, both her body and her clothes. In her cat form, she was thin and uncared for. 

“Are you well?” he asked. 

She blinked at him in surprise. Then a slightly larger smile curled across her face. “I am as well as can be expected, given all that has happened.”

“And what did happen?” Ciri asked, still stirring the pot. Vesemir moved to set up the second cauldron on the fire to mull some wine. 

Orlaith moved a strand of hair behind her ear, making sure it was neat and smooth.

“The castle is basically a world unto itself. It grows, evolves, and expands like a living being. I am bound to it, deep enough that we can no longer be separated. When My Lord decided to move the castle from where it was, that meant that all roots, all anchoring systems keeping it in place in relation to other worlds, had to be severed. It was...” 

She frowned, looking ahead with unseeing eyes. “Like amputating limbs. My limbs. We had to do it with me conscious because I was needed to keep the castle together for the transfer and then settle it here according to my Lord’s wishes.” She made a gesture indicating the kitchen, or maybe the whole of Kaer Morhen. “The space this keep and the adjourning valley is now located in was originally taken up by other buildings and part of a courtyard. We had to destroy what we couldn’t fit, and move what we couldn’t afford to lose.” 

She shook her head, obviously pushing the memories away. “I was exhausted and when my Lord fell asleep too deeply, I was cut off from his power as well. I secured the castle as best as I could, but I need to grow roots. Grow connections to the other worlds, too, to anchor the castle in time and space again. Right now we are somewhat unmoored, which is why there are differences in how time flows in here and inside the castle proper.”

A deep, unsettled pain, not unlike sorrow, filled Vesemir. All of this just to keep Geralt safe. All of that pain just because they happened to be here. Now more than ever, Vesemir understood that Dracula did nothing in half measures, and he would drag everyone under his power through whatever hardships were required to make his will manifest. 

He dropped the herb pouch he’d bundled up for the wine into its pot, and walked over to Orlaith. Vesemir was hyperconscious of his movements. He wanted to be slow and cautious enough to give Orlaith the time to recoil if she wanted, but sure enough to put her at ease.

She turned her head to watch him, but didn’t move. Didn’t even blink as he approached. He couldn’t tell if it was trust or just confidence in her own abilities.

Carefully, he picked up one of her hands from where it rested on her knee, and he bowed over it. “Forgive us, for causing you such pain and trouble. It goes against what we witchers were made for, and I am truly sorry that you suffered so much simply to set us at ease.”

Her green eyes softened.

“Do not take blame where it is not due. I was not bound to the castle by force. I accepted the position for the power and the safety it would give me. I knew that my Lord’s preferred way of dealing with the castle was destroying it until it gave in. The castle is conscious, in a way, but not like a human or a demon is. It knew it was being forced into shackles when the bonding was performed. This…unexpected move? It’s nothing compared to that. And now that my Lord is awake and feeds me his power again, I will be in better condition in no time.”

Vesemir nodded at her, carefully replaced her hand on her knee, and returned to his task. He absolutely ignored the sly look that Lambert gave him on the way. 

“Besides, you have been nothing but charming since you put me against your naked chest,” she added in the same tone of voice, calm and gentle and matter of fact.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, deep and pained. “You were a cat. A cat that didn’t set off my medallion, so I couldn’t have known you were anything other than a cat. I’m starting to think the damn thing is broken.”

“I am also a building,” she said mildly. “Are your medallions ready for that?”

Palo finished chopping up the vegetables, so Vesemir waved him to take a seat. They could be added in along with some water once the meat had finished searing. 

“I thought witcher medallions vibrated for all magic and monsters?” Ciri asked.

That made Vesemir hum for a moment. “They need to be focused. A witcher can choose what to attune their medallion to. Mine _should_ be attuned to unnatural creatures. Demons, monsters of various types. But as far as I’ve seen, anything purely of Dracula’s domain doesn’t set that off. Clearly that extends to creatures forged of his power as well.”

“With this city around us, there’s no point in trying to attune it to Dracula’s power,” Lambert said, dealing him, Mika, and Palo up a fresh hand of cards. “The damn things would just never shut up.”

“Indeed.” Orlaith nodded at him. “Even here. Kaer Morhen is not precisely part of my domain, but My Lord’s power has seeped into every brick and stone.”

There was a loud neigh from the courtyard and then a series of thumps and a loud squeal as something died messily in Night’s claws. Palo and Mika both looked in alarm at the window, but by now Vesemir was quite used to it. 

“It may also be because of who you are surrounded with,” she added.

“Oh?” Ciri asked. 

“Surely you didn’t think the people he allowed you to meet are merely servants.” Orlaith blinked at them.

That earned her looks from nearly everyone in the room. Vesemir just stared at the cupboard in front of him and wondered if he shouldn’t be putting something more potent than wine in the heating pot. Liquor sounded much more attractive now than it did when he made the evening’s meal plans. 

“Dare I ask,” Vesemir said dryly, decided to go with the wine anyways. The way this evening was headed, he probably couldn’t afford to get drunk. Who knew what would happen next.

“With the exception of the two guards that brought these two humans here, everyone you’ve met so far is no less than a general and definitely a leader of their own faction,” Orlaith said, sounding faintly puzzled. “Even those guards are high up in the ladder.”

Orlaith smoothed the cloth on her lap. “My Lord would only let the best of the best anywhere near his lover or his family.”

Lambert pointed towards the window where the sound of claws scrabbling on stone could be heard. Night, probably failing at whatever mad idea she had this time. That demon horse was as curious as five cats, and just as prone to getting herself into ridiculous situations because of it.

“Night,” Lambert said, as if presenting a proof that would foil Orlaith’s logic.

“The queen of her race, her service here keeps them safe. Should she ever stray, my Lord would exterminate them. Long ago he deemed them too dangerous to roam freely.”

Every word out of Orlaith’s mouth just made Vesemir want to strangle Geralt even more. How had he managed to find the most dangerous meat grinder in all the realms to go stick his dick into? _How?_

“Ian,” Vesemir said, because damn it that boy was hapless sometimes.

“Father of all living Incubi,” Orlaith said promptly. “You should see him in battle, a truly glorious sight.”

That actually made Ciri perk up a little, and raise a speculative eyebrow. Then she caught the look on Vesemir’s face and studiously went back to turning the meat over in the pot. Lambert rubbed his mouth again, clearly covering up a smirk.

A few minutes of silence passed as Vesemir and Ciri finished up preparing the stew and mulled wine. Once everything was added in, they were covered and set to simmer, filling the kitchen with the rich scent of food and spices.

“So they are powerful enough to mask their presence from our pendants is what you are saying,” Lambert summed it up.

Orlaith inclined her head gently. “You magic is rather…primitive.”

That was nothing but the bare truth. Even by this world’s standards, witcher magic was bare bones. Hard to take offence at that. 

“It’s simple, but it fills our needs,” Vesemir said finally. 

“Ah, needs,” came a mournful voice from the hallway. “I’m glad at least somebody’s needs are being filled.”

Ian wandered in, looking sleepy and with his curls in disarray, with Eyra on his heels. 

Both of them were dressed as they usually were around the keep; meaning both were barely dressed at all. Ian had on tight, thin cotton pants that clung to his body so closely that they were almost hose. Over that he wore a loose sleeping shirt, left unlaced halfway down his chest. The light ivory colors worked well with his tan skin and golden brown hair. Just the tips of his ivory horns could be seen through the curls. 

Eyra had even less on. Just a simple blue shift that cut off mid thigh. The fabric must have been silk, for it seemed to float around her as she moved. The color set off her golden blond hair perfectly, and harmonized with the brown horns that sprouted from her crown and curled down back behind her ears. She was still yawning, her eyes heavy with sleep. It was entirely unfair that it made her look even more fetching than when she was actually trying to be seductive.

By now, all the regular visitors and residents of Kaer Morhen were used to the succubi and incubus wandering around, but Palo and Mika clearly were not prepared. Both of them blushed brilliant red and their eyes went wide as gold coins. 

To Vesemir’s slight surprise, he found himself glad to see the demons. Both because it meant that they were alright, and also because he’d come to see them as people who belonged here. 

“Eyra, Ian,” Vesemir nodded to them. “Welcome home.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he realized what he’d said. _Home._ These were demons and he’d just welcomed them home.

Heat burned across his cheeks, and Lambert choked at the table, doubling over and coughing so hard that Ciri had to thump on his back to help get it under control. 

“Glad to be back,” Eyra murmured, leaning over Vesemir’s shoulder and kissing his cheek. It wasn’t just a peck either. She pressed her soft, full lips to his cheek and trailed them down until she was just about to reach the corner of his lips. Then she broke off, slipping off behind his back toward Lambert.

Vesemir just gave her a knowing side-eye as he struggled to keep his blushes under control. He was a witcher, dammit, not a teenage boy. 

“Hungry, huh,” he said dryly, and waved a hand at the fire. “There’s stew on.” He knew damn well that wine and meat wasn’t what the succubus was hungry for, but it amused him to offer it anyways.

“Hello, Lambert.” Eyra slid into the other witcher’s lap and leaned in to kiss him on the mouth, her hands on his cheeks. “I missed you,” she purred when she finally broke the kiss.

“Please don’t fuck at the table,” Ciri said, rolling her eyes in annoyance. 

Ian sat down next to her and leveled a truly pathetically hopeful look at her. “Perhaps after, then?”

Vesemir had been actually starting to feel sorry for the incubus before he learned it was the goddamn father of all living incubi everywhere.

“No,” Ciri said with a shake of her head, though she did take a moment to look down the neckline of his shirt. 

Ian sighed like the world was ending, and leaned into the tabletop. Which was when he noticed that Mika and Palo were still staring at them from across the table. Instantly, a devastatingly charming smile bloomed on his face. 

“Why, hello there,” Ian said smoothly, leaning just a little closer. “Non-witchers, here? How interesting.” He let his gaze roam over them, clearly thinking up dirty plans.

“Not a snack,” Vesemir said mildly.

Eyra and Ian looked to Orlaith, who shrugged. Both the succubus and incubus wilted.

“Mika, Palo, this is Ian and Eyra,” Vesemir said with a wave. “Mika and Palo got stuck in the valley when the castle appeared. Hopefully, we can get them back home soon.”

At the mention of their names, Palo managed to snap his jaw shut and train his gaze up to eye level. Mika was clearly still having issues with that, his eyes lingering on the way Eyra’s shift slithered over her skin. 

“I am married,” Mika said to himself, and swallowed. He closed his eyes and took a sharp breath. “My lovely wife, Doria is about to have our first child.”

“I don’t mind threesomes,” Eyra said in a throaty purr, looking at Mika with a sparkle in her eye. “I bet your wife works hard, she deserves some pleasure in reward.”

Lambert held back a snicker while Vesemir sighed and got up to stir the wine for a moment. It looked hot enough to serve. Maybe it could stand to simmer for a while longer to get a better flavor, but Vesemir felt in need of a drink right now.

“I. Uh. I think I need to. Go outside. For a moment. And…” Mika stood up, straightened his leather tunic, and wandered out, muttering, “Go sit in a snowbank.”

When Eyra looked like she might get up and follow, Vesemir leveled a look at her, and handed her a mug of wine. “Not a snack,” he said firmly.

Lambert patted her hip, putting his arm around her waist as she was still sitting in his lap.

“I can be a snack later,” he promised.

The look Ian gave them was so wide eyed it was nearly teary. 

Vesemir rolled his eyes and handed out mugs of wine to everyone else pretending not see how guilty Lambert looked for a moment. How had this become his life? How had this become _their_ lives? 

“If you two are here,” Vesemir started, deliberately trying to change the subject. “I’m guessing Dracula will show up eventually.”

“Assuming he doesn’t go straight to Geralt,” Ciri said, sipping her wine. 

“What of the army out front?” Palo asked. “From everything you have said, this Dracula doesn’t seem to be the forgiving type.” He opened his mouth to say something else, but then clearly thought better of it. 

That was fine, Vesemir thought he knew where Palo was headed with that. Maybe Palo didn’t feel comfortable speaking plainly in front of Dracula’s servants, but Vesemir had no such compunctions.

“If he wipes them out, it would only instigate further issues,” Vesemir said blandly. “Henselt will empty the country of men before giving up a fight.”

“It would be better if we could negotiate out of it,” Ciri added. “Henselt is a warmonger, but he’s not an idiot. He’d know when he was outclassed.”

“You might have a bit of trouble convincing my Lord to…”---Orlaith made a face---“...negotiate.”

“Understatement of the century,” Lambert muttered, taking a sip of his drink.

Ciri tapped her fingers against the table and frowned, clearly trying to puzzle through to an answer. 

“What do we need…” she mused out loud. “We need the army to fuck off, and we need Henselt to not send another one. Preferably, without needing to kill everyone involved. First, that would be a waste, and likely a pain in the ass, and second, that would leave the northern kingdoms weakened. Nilfgaard is just waiting for the opportunity to attack. Temeria is already in a bit of a tizzy with what’s happened there in the last week. They might be the linchpin for the defense, but that doesn’t mean the rest of the Northern Kingdoms’ contribution is negligible. If Henselt gets caught up here, then that makes it that much easier for Nilfgaard to take over.” 

Vesemir nodded. “There might be a couple of countries between here and there, but soon enough that would mean an even larger army at the front door. Not only does Nilfgaard also dislike non-humans, barring the elves anyways, they also worship a sun god.”

“I’m sure running into a vampire city would go over well with them,” Lambert said dryly.

At the word ‘vampire’, Palo blanched, but he stayed quiet.

“Would the army be large enough for My Lord to care?” Orlaith asked interestedly.

“Last time he only cared because he ran out of drink,” Ian murmured, paying more attention to staring longingly at Lambert than the conversation at hand.

Ciri pursed her lips and hummed for a moment. “Eventually? Probably. Maybe. The Nilfgaardian empire is huge. I don’t know if they’d ever be able to field as many people as the humans of Castlevania City once did, but…” She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment. “I’m not certain.”

“You know, that might be the wrong question,” Vesemir said, looking out the window. The lights from the city around them twinkled in the distance, and he wondered if Lambert or the other demons could hear the inhabitants moving around there. “If Nilfgaard destroys the Northern Kingdoms, there will be no Path for witchers to follow. We are not welcome in their cities. Didn’t you say so, Ciri? We’d be unable to hunt. Lucky to be left alive, let alone paid for our work.” He turned to look at them all. “If Dracula is willing to move his whole castle here just as a deterrent to keep Geralt safe, what would he be willing to do to keep Geralt hunting as he prefers?”

“He could just take him to another damn world,” Ciri said tartly. “One that has never heard of witchers and wouldn’t mind paying them for their services.”

“Our Lord’s choices are sometimes unexpected,” Orlaith warned. “He might agree to negotiate, or he might decide it’s just better to just take over all of those kingdoms and end the drama.”

Silence came over the table as everyone present thought that through. 

“I hate politics,” Vesemir sighed quietly. Lambert toasted him and took a drink. 

Ciri turned to Orlaith. “You control the castle. Would you let me reach out to Triss and Yennefer? We could negotiate on Dracula’s behalf. Maybe get Henselt to back off before Dracula needs to deal with it.”

“Our Lord is on his way here,” Orlaith said getting up. “I will ask permission to lift the movement ban.”

Eyra, too, disentangled herself from Lambert’s lap and stood up while Ian slid out from the bench he was sitting in. All of them turned to watch the door.

None of the rest of them stood, though Vesemir contemplated readying his mug to toss it at Dracula’s head. 

Soon enough, Dracula himself walked through the kitchen door, looking exactly as he always did. Shoulder length black hair, goatee, red armored coat and bare, muscular chest. Well, almost the same. He looked extremely pleased. _Incredibly_ pleased, his red eyes banked and nearly grey in the soft light of the kitchen. 

Two steps behind him was Alucard. Unlike Dracula, Alucard looked a bit worse for wear. His skin had gone parchment white. The black around his irises was deeper than usual, and faint purple rings lay under his eyes. He was also dressed as he usually was, bare chested and in his blue armored coat, with his sword at his side. There was a slight frown on his face though, which made Vesemir worry.

As soon as they walked in, Orlaith slid down to kneel on one knee, while Eyra and Ian knelt down on both.

“My Prince,” they said in unison, with their heads bowed. 

Dracula waved a hand at them, and beamed at Vesemir and Lambert. His gaze paused on Palo, and he narrowed his eyes a bit.

“Dracula. Alucard,” Vesemir said in greeting. He tapped his fingers on the table, struggling not to give into the urge to bang his own head there instead. “You’re just in time for supper.”

“Oh,” Dracula said, “you shouldn’t have.” He looked straight at Palo.

Lambert snorted in amusement and sipped his wine. Palo looked about ready to faint.

“This is Palo. He and his son were trapped in the valley when the castle walls showed up,” Vesemir said pointedly.

“...Son,” Alucard said quietly. “Is that who Night is chasing around the courtyard?”

The faint sound of Night racing around outside hadn’t stopped at all since she’d left her stall, but now Vesemir realized that it was also joined by the occasional yip and cry of alarm. 

Because of course.

Vesemir covered his face with his hands and sighed, leaning his elbows on the table. This was just perfect. The perfect ending to the week. 

He closed his eyes and took another breath, reminding himself that the week wasn’t over.

“I’ll get him.” Lambert got up from the table and headed for the door.

“Please don’t eat our guests,” Vesemir said flatly, his eyes still closed. He thought about the satisfying sound that a really solid clay plate would make against Dracula’s head. A good thump. A meaty sound. 

_That would never work_, he reminded himself. _For a number of reasons. But it doesn’t mean that I can’t run Geralt through the Gauntlet several times when he gets healed up. No doubt he’ll need to retrain a bit, anyways. Get his muscles back in shape. Maybe I should get Alucard, Eskel, and Lambert to help with group attack tactics._

Happy visions of the four of them chasing Geralt around with heavy wooden sticks floated through his mind for a minute. Finally, he looked back up at Dracula and Alucard, resolving himself to at least get through the night before attempting to get a stiff drink.

“Humans are so confusing,” Dracula muttered, turning to look at Alucard as if searching for sympathy. “They offer dinner and then say you can’t have it.”

The flat stare that Alucard gave Dracula was eloquent. 

“Psssh,” Ciri smirked at him, and waved her hand dismissively. “As if you haven’t already had more than a bite of Eskel lately.”

Dracula hummed, looking pleased again.

“Very satisfying, yes.”

He took a seat at the table, Alucard by his side, and waved a hand at the demons, allowing them to rise. Orlaith moved to stand near his side, and Ian and Eyra busied themselves refilling everyone’s drinks. 

As Vesemir watched, he noted how Alucard wrapped his hands around the warm mug offered to him. That boy looked like he’d been run through the wringer. 

“Are you all right?” Vesemir asked finally, still watching the way Alucard seemed to try and soak in all the warmth he could. He even sat closer to Dracula than he usually would. For all that they never made a secret of the fact they are lovers, Alucard tended to keep his distance, loath to share touch publicly, even with Dracula and Geralt. Now he was sitting close enough that his arm was pressed against Dracula’s side. 

Alucard looked at him in faint surprise, and then shook his head. “I’ll be fine.”

He _would be_ fine, not _was currently_ fine. 

Vesemir stopped himself from frowning further. He knew that Alucard wasn’t the type to accept sympathy. Instead, he looked out the window. “It’s very cold out tonight. Winter still has teeth, even this late in the year. We’ve got blankets warming at the fire, though, for just that reason. Do you want one?” 

Alucard looked at the mug he was holding, then at Vesemir. Perhaps it wasn’t an accident that this made him turn away from Dracula. 

“Yes, please,” he said, studiously ignoring the way Dracula was staring at the side of his face.

Dracula said nothing, oddly enough choosing to remain quiet.

Without another word, Vesemir got up to rummage through the blankets on the bench near the fire. They were all very soft and very fine, so he grabbed the topmost one. It was hot to the touch from being settled so close to the flame. Eventually the colors would fade because of it, but Vesemir was sure Alucard wouldn’t care. Dracula might. He seemed to have a thing for strong, dark colors. 

He carried the heavy blanket over and settled it on Alucard’s shoulders, warm side facing in, and then went to go collect bowls for the stew. He started ladling it in, trying to not think about the strange mix of demons, vampires, witchers, and humans gathered in the room.

“Do you adopt everyone who walks through your gates?” Palo asked quietly. 

Vesemir shot him an unamused look. 

“Eat,” he said gruffly and put the first bowl in front of him. He looked to Ian, Eyra, and Orlaith, and then pointed at more seats at the table. As one, they looked to Dracula, who just shrugged. The demons looked at each other for a moment, and then filed into the available seating.

“I found our lost one,” Lambert said, stomping into the kitchen again. Mika followed sheepishly behind, a few stray bits of hay stuck in his hair. “Night was really offended I took away her playmate. I promised her a rabbit tomorrow.”

“You do know she doesn’t actually need to feed, right?” Dracula asked. “She draws her energy from me.”

“As I understand it,” Vesemir said with a raised eyebrow, “even though she is fed by your power, that doesn’t mean it stops the want of a more varied meal. I could eat porridge all day and be full, but still want for a piece of candy at the end of it.”

He thought about poor Ian, desperate for a meal but unable to find someone to feed on.

“She’s a glutton,” Dracula said with a snort.

“Like master, like horse,” Alucard muttered quietly into the mug, earning himself a bit of a glare.

Ciri snorted into her cup.

As Orlaith settled herself next to Dracula, he turned to look at her. Then he leaned in and sniffed very delicately. Delight crossed Dracula’s face and he turned to smile slyly at Vesemir.

“I knew you were still a man under all that grumpiness.” Dracula nodded at Vesemir. 

_Don’t throw a bowl at him, don’t throw a bowl at him, don’t throw a bowl at him…_ Vesemir gritted his teeth.

“He is a man.” Orlaith frowned, looking at Dracula seriously. “I checked.”

Lambert, at the other end of the table, choked on the bite of stew he was just about to swallow. Vesemir sat there in stunned silence, listening to Lambert hack and cough while Eyra did her best to pound his back without killing him in the process. Even Ciri looked studiously into her bowl, suspiciously not showing her mouth.

“I was afraid not everything was in working order,” Dracula said, looking at Vesemir with what was probably supposed to be empathy. “I tried to tell him it wouldn’t matter with any of the sex demons. They have ways of making even rusty equipment work. Still, I am glad I was mistaken.”

“I am not fucking any demons,” Vesemir said flatly, “and _equipment_ and what it _is_ or _isn’t_ used for is irrelevant.” 

He could try to kill everyone here, but that would be ineffective and ultimately impossible. He could leave, but oh Gods, they would just follow him. 

“He keeps saying that,” Dracula complained, spreading his hands. The tone of his voice implied a complete and utter lack of understanding.

Vesemir sighed and took a drink. “Maybe I should go to the Griffon school keep. Maybe they need a fencing instructor.”

“The succubi can be too forward at times,” Orlaith answered seriously. “I’ve heard that some men find it to be intimidating.”

Mika and Palo on the other side of the table nodded at that, both blushing.

“Maybe the Bear school,” Vesemir grumbled to himself. “I could learn to swing a cudgel like they do.” 

“Are there many of them?” Ian asked, leaning over the table towards Vesemir. “Statistically speaking, there has to be a percentage that likes men.” Then he looked thoughtful. “Or if they aren’t choosy I could get a few of them drunk.” He frowned, as if already counting how many men he could get drunk enough to fuck. “When do you want to go?”

Vesemir covered his eyes and counted silently to ten.

“Wait.” Eyra leaned on the table hard enough that the neckline of her shift rode down so low that her ample breasts threatened to spill out onto the table. “I wasn’t paying attention.” She stretched her neck to look at an unreasonably excited Ian and then at Vesemir and back. “There are men?”

Ian turned his wide eyes at her.

“Vesemir says there’s a whole witcher school that takes the name ‘bear’. He’s going to take us there.”

“Bear because they are big?” Eyra asked, now also looking all wide eyed and excited.

Lambert at this point wasn’t even trying to pretend he wasn't wheezing in laughter between his coughs. Vesemir wished he would just choke already.

“I’m not taking _anyone_ anywhere,” Vesemir growled, slapping his spoon hard against the table.

“Eyra, honey, aren’t I enough of a meal for you?” Lambert managed, finally mastering his wheezing and choking.

The succubus turned to look at Lambert, giving him a long, hot once over.

“You are a feast,” she purred finally, reaching out a hand and dragging it down Lambert’s chest. “But a lady likes to have some variety in her meal plan and Vesemir clearly understands that. He said so himself just moments ago.”

Lambert had the gall to give Vesemir the stink eye from where he sat.

At least when this was a school, Vesemir could keep students from sassing him by running them through particularly difficult training. Sore bodies didn’t have the energy to talk shit. But now, that wasn’t even an option. Even if he was training the demons in blade work, there was no chance of them getting exhausted in a mere practice session. He’d just have to suffer through their teasing. 

Vesemir just pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. This is what he got for having guests in Kaer Morhen.

“Is it an army camp I saw outside the walls?” Alucard asked, watching as Ciri scraped the last of her stew off her plate.

Ciri looked at Vesemir, clearly not sure how to frame the words to Dracula to get the result they needed. He was aware of the fact that Alucard shifted his gaze from Ciri to him, watching for his response, letting him have the first move.

Interesting.

“It is,” Orlaith said, looking at her now empty bowl with something like disappointment. “A tiny one, though.”

Vesemir looked at Dracula and raised an eyebrow. 

“How hellbent are you on killing them all? Because we might be able to get them to piss off without all the effort. Although...” Vesemir thought about the powerful negotiation tool Dracula’s presence on the battlefield would be. Nothing like bringing a good threat to the table. He sniffed and shook his head, casting the idea aside. If Dracula started killing, there was a solid chance he wouldn’t stop. 

Dracula’s lips twisted into a bitter smirk Vesemir couldn't quite understand.

“Tempting, isn’t it?” he murmured, his red eyes brighter than usual. 

Vesemir tilted his head to the side, and really _looked_ at Dracula. They’d spent a fair deal of time talking about him as a force of nature, as power to be managed and planned around. It suddenly occurred to Vesemir that such attitudes must be exhausting for Dracula. 

Well, Vesemir could do him the favor of treating him as he would another witcher. A competent colleague rather than a weapon to be wielded, or even a god to be pandered to. 

“Not nearly as much as you might think,” Vesemir said with sympathy. “I don’t envy you, nor the position you’re often put in.” He took a breath and straightened up. “What goal do you have here, Dracula? Let us all work towards it with the least amount of annoyance for us all.”

Dracula sighed.

“I’m interested in cutting down on the commute between Geralt’s work and the castle.”

Vesemir and Lambert both barked out a laugh, and Ciri snickered quietly. 

“He does hate portals,” Ciri added helpfully, which only started up the laughter again. 

Moving a whole damned city, to cut down on _travel time_. Gods. 

“I will find the ones responsible for the hunt on Geralt,” Dracula added, “but I’m willing to let you find out the names before I step in.”

Vesemir was more than a little grateful for this concession. He shuddered to think what Dracula’s way of investigation would look like.

“I’ve been stuck here for a bit, but Triss and Yennefer are working on it,” Ciri said. “It’s tangled up. There are more than one set of spies at work.” She shook her head for a moment, and then gave Dracula a grim, vicious smile. “We’ll find you names. But that matter likely has nothing to do with the army at the gates…well, at the wall. King Henselt is likely just feeling insecure because a fortified city dropped into the middle of his countryside.”

For a moment it looked like Lambert would add to that, but he shut his mouth and sipped at his wine instead. Unsurprisingly, Palo and Mika were silent and wide eyed, barely having made a move since Dracula and Alucard walked in.

“I don’t feel like dealing with humans,” Dracula declared, slouching a little. “Especially the ones in power.”

“They are unbearably tiresome,” Vesemir said with a grimace. “Why do you think I stay in Kaer Morhen? Ug, _politics_.”

“You stay here to beat us all into shape in the off season,” Lambert said with dry look. 

“A good strategy has multiple benefits.” Vesemir smirked and sipped his wine. 

“One of you has to go out and talk to them,” Ciri pointed her spoon at the rest of the table. “It can’t be me. Not only am I not a witcher, nor one of Dracula's people, I’m a woman. Henselt is sort of a bastard when it comes to that kind of thing. The only reason his assigned sorceress is someone he listens to is because she’s powerful enough to roast his balls with a blink of one eye.”

“The man is a bully,” Vesemir agreed. “But he’s not an idiot. He’ll listen if he needs to. Hell, that’s why he got out of Aedirn and withdrew his troops from there. Enough pressure and he folded.”

“Orlaith is the decisive one after myself and Alucard,” Dracula said pleasantly. “She can speak in my stead.”

“Yes, My Prince,” Orlaith said with bow of her head. She looked at her empty bowl, and then eyed the stew still bubbling away on the fire. 

_Cats_, Vesemir thought with a bit of amusement. He stood up and ladled himself up another bowlful, and looked around the room. “Anyone else want more?” 

He’d made the offer to discreetly see if Orlaith wanted more, but she remained silent. 

Lambert raised his hand, so did Mika and Ciri. He started filling the bowls and distributing them. As he did so, Ian stood up and refilled everyone’s mugs as well. Vesemir’s chest was filled with with a curious kind of warmth at this, at having so many people crowded into the room. He liked it, the sounds they made when they ate and talked. The sounds of their clothes rustling, their heartbeats filling up his ears.

“I will need someone from here to stand with me,” Orlaith said. “A local will know how to maneuver the humans here to get what we want, and will be able to help me understand that which I am unfamiliar with.”

“I vote Vesemir,” Lambert said. Vesemir glared at him, and took his seat. “Not just because I don’t want to do it, though I really don’t want to. You hate politics, but you keep up on it more than I do. More than that, though, you’re…” He paused, and looked around, as if trying to put his finger on something abstract. “You’re exactly the type of person that Henselt would see as a peer. You’re an older fighter, better than any of us at blade work, really, and you’re the one in charge of Kaer Morhen. He’ll respect you without even realizing why he respects you, because you _look_ like someone he should listen to.”

While that was a solid point, Vesemir wasn’t sure he cared for the implication that he looked ancient enough to be intelligent. He tapped his spoon gently against the rim of his bowl, and thought it through. “I’m not very good at speaking in circles like the court types do. And if I join Orlaith, I’ll likely insist on Henselt agreeing to keep his realm safe for witchers.” He shrugged. “As safe as can be, anyways. That will end up including more than just the Wolf school.”

“I’m hearing so much about all the other witcher schools,” Dracula said musingly and Vesemir felt a little shiver travel down his back. That interested sparkle in the vampire’s eyes was not something he wanted to think on too deeply. “But I think I should first square away my witchers, then look at others.”

_Square away my witchers._

Vesemir blinked at him. He closed his eyes briefly and sighed. There would be time enough later to worry about whatever the hell that meant. 

“Most people don’t realize there are different schools,” Vesemir said. He took a bite of his soup. “A witcher is a witcher, as far as humans are concerned. Getting safe passage for us Wolves will likely include the others by default, since it’s unlikely most people would be able to tell the difference.” He paused to take another bite, and his mind wandered back to old memories. “We used to get together, you know. The schools. We held a tournament every year, both to foster camaraderie and to spend time with others who also walked the Path. When Kaer Morhen was destroyed, the Wolves stopped going. There were no new students to take, so why bother? We had better relations with some schools than others, but we are still closer to each other than we are to regular humans.”

“If you can get something you want from this mess, go for it,” Dracula offered with a shrug. “I only care about what’s mine.”

Vesemir nodded and said, “That’s more than fair.” 

“Make sure you make an entrance,” Dracula said without looking at Orlaith. Then he turned to Alucard. “Do you want to rest more or go back to Castlevania right away?”

There was a moment of silence as Alucard swished around the wine in his mug. “I am very tired. But I wish to see Geralt. I’ll rest better with all of us in the same place.”

What had Alucard even been up to, to make him exhausted enough to admit that he was tired? Vesemir had to wonder. The poor lad looked unusually vulnerable, wrapped up in his blanket, huddled over a mug. It was an odd sight, and one that set Vesemir on edge. He didn’t like any of his charges looking so worn.

Not that Alucard was in his charge. But sometimes it felt like he was. Maybe it was just how young he looked. Or perhaps it was something about the poise he carried himself with. He reminded Vesemir of some of his more focused students. The current batch of Wolves were all boisterous shit talkers, but that was more a reflection of the fact that Lambert, Eskel, and Geralt were all friends, rather than a trait of Wolf witchers as a whole. 

“When you see him,” Vesemir said, “remind him that he’ll need to stop by for retraining before he goes out on the Path again.”

Lambert snickered evilly and even Ciri looked amused. 

“It seems that Geralt has a lot places he needs to visit for _retraining_ before he returns to his Path,” Dracula drawled, low and suggestive enough both Eyra and Ian giggled. Ciri snorted and rolled her eyes, while Vesemir just shook his head sadly. Palo and Mika shared a look, and kept to their bowls of stew.

“Do what you want with the situation,” Dracula said getting up. “If I don’t like it when I get back, I will make alterations.”

“I’ll get in touch with Triss and Yennefer,” Ciri said. “If I’ll be able to now?”

“I’m lifting the ban for travel. You are free to go as you please. I’m leaving the matter of outsiders to Orlaith.”

“My thanks,” Ciri nodded to them both. “As soon as I have concrete information, I’ll join you in Castlevania City and let you know how things are progressing.” 

That made Alucard perk up. “Geralt has been moved to my tower there. Simply present yourself to the front desk and Matt or John will have you escorted up. Once you’ve been to my private levels there, I can show you the portal room, and you can come and go directly from there.”

“Can’t I just portal straight there?” Ciri asked, looking to Dracula. “The last time, Dracula gave me something that made me land in what looked like a specially prepared room for teleporting. Can't you give something to get me straight to yours?”

Alucard shook his head. “It’s warded too heavily. There’s no way to portal in from the outside unless I key you to the spells. Which I am fairly sure I can do, but you will have to be present for regardless.”

He stood up, carefully took the blanket off of his shoulders, and began folding it back up. 

“Ahh,” Ciri said with a sigh. Then a slow, pleased smile curved across her face. “Though another walk through the city might be good anyways. When I made my way to the hospital the first time, I stumbled across the most interesting theater. They had this _show_. A classic they said. I could stop by and get some more information. I think my father would just love to see the production, when he’s feeling better.” 

Alucard froze in place and looked at her, eyes wide in horror. 

Dracula looked at Alucard, his eyebrows raising, and then to Ciri, obviously cottoning on to the fact there was something juicy going on.

“Show?” he asked, still looking from Alucard to Ciri.

Alucard dropped the blanket onto his now vacated seat. “There is no need for you to roam the city. I’ll leave transportation for you at the hospital. Someone with a car. They’ll take you right to us. Matt can have one of his men wait for you in the lobby.”

“Thank you,” Ciri said, beaming at him.

“This is not over,” Dracula said mildly, extending his hand toward Alucard in a gallant gesture.

“I am well aware,” Alucard said with a tired sigh. He still took Dracula’s hand without hesitation, and let himself get reeled in so they stood closely together. 

“Don’t resist,” Dracula murmured, curling his hand around the back of Alucard’s head. “I’ll take care of everything.”

Then his body started flaking off into tiny motes of darkness, starting at the edges. As his body lost its material form, so did Alucard’s. It was slower, gentler, but his body, too, started to flake away at the edges. Soon enough, both of them were nothing more than a slowly circling maelstrom of darkness that went up in one long pillar, disappearing into the cracks of the large slabs of stone that made up the kitchen ceiling.

Silence reigned for another minute after they left. 

“He really likes impressive entrances and exits, doesn’t he,” Vesemir mused quietly. 

“Gods,” Palo said in a thin and shaky voice.

“I know, right?” Ian said with a nod. “All Gods love them, I swear. I’d say it comes with the position, but My Lord was just as dramatic before he became Lord of Chaos.”

Both Palo and Mika looked at Ian in horror.

Eyra nodded and Orlaith looked faintly amused. 

“That was easier than I expected,” Orlaith murmured. “He usually fights our Lord a lot more.”

“Alucard?” Vesemir asked. He realized that none of the demons called Alucard by his name or even referred to him. If spoken to, they were polite and helpful, but none of them engaged Alucard directly. It was a peculiar way of shunning him that Vesemir was just starting to notice. It bothered him. He wondered how much it must bother Alucard.

“Yes,” Orlaith confirmed.

Curious. There was something there, some history that Vesemir was as of yet unaware of. Maybe later he could prise it out of Orlaith. For now, they had other worries. 

He thought about the upcoming negotiations and winced. “As much as I’m not looking forward to talking to Henselt or his bully boys, perhaps we should take care of that sooner rather than later.”

“I’ll get our escort ready,” Orlaith said. “I think they will appreciate a look outside the walls.” She stood up. “And I need to plan an entrance worthy of My Lord.” Then she turned into a pillar of blood, thick and red. It splashed onto the floor making the humans yelp. The blood moved over the stone, heading for the worn out grooves where the stones were joined together and slowly seeped into them, until there was not a drop of blood left to be seen.

“Looks like Dracula isn’t the only one who likes an exit,” Lambert said dryly. He turned to look at Vesemir. “Do you think we should start trying to be fancier, too? Maybe rappel out the window, or cast Igni every time we leave?”

Vesemir rolled his eyes, and Ciri giggled. 

“Don’t tell Geralt,” Vesemir said flatly. “He might try just for the fun of it.”

That was too much for Ciri and she dissolved into guffaws of laughter. “He would,” she choked out between wheezes. “He so would!”

Snickers made their way around the room, as Palo and Mika looked on, bewildered. 

Shaking his head, Vesemir stood up and gestured to the rest of them. “Come on, let’s get dinner cleaned up. I’d rather not leave a mess around before I have to go talk to idiots,” he said sourly. 

“You want me to break out the brandy?” Lambert asked, already moving to help.

“Don’t tempt me.”

\---


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes from Quarra: Early again this week. With the holidays coming up I have no idea if this kind of momentum will keep going, but at the very least it lasted one more week. Enjoy!

Matt wasn’t very comfortable with how his boss, his main charge, had just up and disappeared as soon as they got everybody into the tower. The fact there was another entry into the tower, one he hadn’t yet found despite multiple attempts to ferret it out, was driving him insane. 

The first few times Trevor disappeared this way, Matt tried to grill John and the rest of the house staff for details and got nowhere. He did his best, too. Was as intimidating as possible and persistent in his search for clues. No luck. Trevor just chased everybody out of his floor and then he was gone, disappearing into thin air. 

Over the last year of working for Trevor, he'd gotten no closer to solving the riddle.

It gave Matt _heartburn_.

He always spent the time that his boss was away twitchy and irritable, imagining all the ways Trevor could be tortured and killed while Matt sat at his ease in the luxurious rooms of the tower.

Now that he knew more about Belmont Sr., he was even more inclined to worry. Whatever that man was involved in, it was the shadiest of shady dealings, and obviously dangerous to boot. It wasn’t pleasant to think of Trevor being forced into that world; he was too kind and generous a person. The more Matt found out about how he was raised and the people his father associated with, the more nervous Matt got. 

Luckily, he didn’t have too long to sit and stew over it this time. After only an hour or so, Iga had poked her head out of the stairwell leading up, and the guard there called Matt up from his office on the same floor. 

By the time he got to the staircase, Iga had already made herself comfortable on the desk beside the door, with her long, bare legs resting on the armrest of the chair his guy was sitting in. She was barefoot; her toenails were painted the same rich red color as her fingernails. She was dressed only in a button down shirt; he recognized it as one of the ones bought for Eskel. The cotton was expensive and smooth, and soft enough that he could see the faint outline of her nipples pushing at the cotton. Her long blonde hair cascaded down her back in a messy wave, and little curling strands fell forward as she bent towards Peter. Matt had to admit that Peter was doing his best to remain stoic in the face of all that _woman_ right in his face and applauded the fact. Peter being married with two kids probably helped his self control somewhat.

“Matt!” she said, lighting up with pleasure at the sight of him. “Just the man I was hoping to see.” The sultry purr of her voice implied all the other things she was hoping for as well.

Matt promptly shoved his natural reaction far, far away and put on his most professional face. “Iga. What can I do for you?”

“Mmmm, so many things.” She looked at him up and down like she wanted to eat him, shifting her long, bare legs against each other. Matt couldn't help but follow the movement with his eyes. It was so rare to see bare legs in the corporate world. “But I’m here because Eskel and Geralt are ready for food, and to tell you that you are welcome back upstairs.” 

That wasn’t a huge surprise. The two of them ate a ridiculous amount, even though Geralt was still mostly on mush and very soft foods. Trevor had a fully staffed kitchen and John had already arranged for a variety of foods to be kept ready. Matt shot off a text to the appropriate people, scheduling the food service to start soon. 

“Someone should be up in just a few minutes with something for them to start on,” Matt said. He walked over to the elevator and pressed the call button. “Shall we head up?”

Matt did not pause to watch how she slid off the desk. No matter how good it probably looked. A second later, Iga was pressed up alongside of him, and she slipped her hands around his arm. 

“Yes, let’s.”

She smelled very, very nice, and Matt was very anxious for the elevator to arrive, if only so he could politely try to move away. That effort failed. When the doors opened, she just stayed glued to his side as they got on. 

When the doors closed, it occurred to Matt that this was a good opportunity to ask Iga about her...terms of employment. 

He looked at her, making sure to look her in the eyes. “Iga, can I ask you a somewhat personal question?”

Her dark eyes lit up.

“Yes,” she said, leaning a little more into him. “Ask anything you want.”

“Do you work for Gabriel Belmont of your own free will? Do you have a choice in what you’re...ordered to do?”

She blinked at him, clearly taken aback by the question.

“I do not work for Him,” she said. Matt could clearly hear the capital letters in her voice. “I _belong_ to Him.” She sounded proud of that fact.

Abject horror filled Matt up. He’d hoped that this wasn’t the case. Desperately hoped. He licked his lips and scrambled to find something to say. “How long has he owned you?”

His first instinct was to try to offer to smuggle her out of the city. But to what end? It was obvious that Gabriel Belmont had more power and influence than a man like Matt could hope to compete with. During his time in spec ops, he’d seen nasty situations like this before. People in bad spots. He’d done what he could at the time, but there were some people he hadn’t had the resources or manpower to save. He knew he'd made the right calls for his men and his mission, but those choices still haunted him. 

Iga tilted her head, watching him with thoughtful eyes.

“Are you worried for me?” she asked after a moment, avoiding the question.

“Very much. And for everyone else in Gabriel Belmont’s power,” he answered honestly. 

“His power is absolute,” she said gently, patting Matt’s arm as if it was him that needed the reassurance. “But do not worry about me. I understand my Master’s wishes very well, and he has always been more than fair in how he treated me.”

“As you are someone who is currently owned, I’m not sure you are an objective observer on what is fair treatment,” Matt said quietly, hoping he hadn’t stepped too far. But maybe no one had ever said these things to her. Someone should, at least once.

“You are such a charming man,” she said with a smile. “You shouldn’t worry about me.” Iga looked away then, obviously lost in memories. “Back when He took over, He gave us all a choice. Serve, or flee and hope to never cross His path again.” She shrugged. “I don’t regret my choice.”

Matt had to admit that was slightly better than he’d feared. Somewhere along the line, Iga possibly, _maybe_, could have fled. There was likely a whole host of dependency issues floating around here, as well as some extremely dubious consent. But _Iga_ felt like she’d had a choice and didn’t mind the outcome. Matt would have felt far worse about his inability to act if she were actively in distress.

It was still a bitter pill to swallow, and Matt had a hard time believing her choice was a real one. Maybe she didn’t have anything else to compare with. People sometimes didn't know there was anything outside the cage they lived in, so they never longed for it.

The elevator had come to the top floor, but he paused before stepping out. Iga waited with him, one eyebrow raised.

“Are you under orders to sleep with me or anyone else here?” Matt asked. That was critical information, and Iga had been frank enough with him so far that he hoped she would actually tell him the truth.

Her amusement deepened. “You heard my orders. I’m _allowed_ to spend time with you and your guards, but only if you are off duty. I’ll follow Trevor Belmont’s orders until I leave here or until my Master arrives.” She ran a soothing hand down his arm, and pulled him into the hall. “You needn’t worry so much. Come on, Eskel and Geralt are waiting.”

He must have been taken off guard by her sudden pull, because before he knew it he was out of the elevator and halfway down the hall.

She was stronger than she looked. 

When they got into the bedroom, Eskel and Geralt were in the middle of an argument. 

“---solutely not!” Geralt protested. His gauze wrapped arms were very loosely, very gently crossed over his still bandaged chest and he’d been propped up by several large fluffy pillows. He still had a few tubes and wires trailing out of him, hooked up to equipment sitting next to the bed. “Use your knives!”

_Oh wait what now._

“Knives?” Matt asked, walking quickly across the large room to get into comfortable talking distance with them.

Eskel was perched on a chair at the bedside and a frown twisted at his face. “I need to practice my sword work. I was just asking to borrow Geralt’s swords.”

“You already lost your own! I’ve no desire for you to lose mine, too.” 

“I didn’t lose them, I gave them to...Trevor’s father. I’ll get them back.” Eskel’s face puckered like he’d bit down on a lemon. “Eventually.” He cast an exasperated look at Geralt and sighed. “Come on. I won’t leave the room, you know that. They’ll be right here.”

Matt pulled up a chair, watching them both with interest. Iga didn’t bother to join him; she just sauntered up to Eskel and shimmied happily into his lap. He wrapped an arm around her waist to steady her, but didn’t take his eyes off of Geralt.

That only made the pout on Geralt’s face grow, and he hunched his shoulders a little. “It’s not fair.”

Eskel sighed. “No. It’s not. But I’m going crazy here, and I haven’t done sword work in days.” He pursed his lips and looked around the room, his gaze landing on the little tables of equipment next to the bed. “You could throw things at me while I train?”

“Yeah?” Geralt said, perking up a bit. 

He also started looking around, as if assessing what was nearby and gauging each item’s utility as a projectile. Soon his shoulders slumped. He held out one hand flat front in of him and watched as it trembled. After only a few seconds, he dropped it with a sigh and then shook his head. “I’m too tired. Gods, I feel like all I do is sleep.”

“Sleep is good for you. It’ll help you recover faster.” Eskel’s voice was filled with sympathy. He turned to look at Matt. “Matt could throw things at me. You could point at what you want him to throw.”

Matt blinked, a little nonplussed at this turn of events.

“I could throw things at you, too,” Iga said with an artful pout. One beautifully manicured nail trailed down Eskel's neck to his chest, pausing where the buttons closed the shirt up just below the hollow of his throat. 

“Oh, I know you could,” Eskel said. He turned to look at her, his face quirking into a warm smile. “But if you threw things at me I’d have to spend all of my attention on staying alive and I’d never get any form work done.”

That had to be flirtatious hyperbole. It struck Matt as a little odd, though. So far Eskel had struck him as a fairly literal person. Iga certainly seemed to enjoy the implication, though, so maybe this was just how he flirted. 

“That is very true,” she said with a sultry smirk. 

Geralt sighed. “Fine. You can use my swords. After we eat.”

“Food will be up in a minute,” Matt said. He eyed Eskel for a moment. “Now that you’re calling the shots, I’m guessing you want your stuff back.”

“Yes,” Eskel said with a relieved nod. Then he looked down at his shirt, a nice light green button up today. “Though I think I’ll stick to wearing these. For a while anyways. I do want my gear in reach, though.”

Geralt looked at him in surprise. “Really?”

Iga smoothed her shirt down her ample chest, stretching the cotton over her curves. “I like them, too,” she said with a sultry smile. “Especially the way it makes your men look at me,” she purred.

Eskel’s eyes crinkled in amusement. “It’s a good look for you.” Then he tilted his head in a half shrug. “This place is safer than the hospital. Much easier to defend.”

“Smells better, too,” Geralt grumbled.

“Yes.” Eskel nodded. “This room smells like Trevor.” He looked around, his gaze slowly roaming over the walls and furniture.

“That’s not it, though,” Geralt said shrewdly. The look he gave Eskel was almost calculating. Matt had been on the wrong end of that type of gaze from both witchers, and he had to wonder if the way they seemed to look through a person was a trait of all witchers, or just these two. “That’s not why. We all wear our armor at Kaer Morhen, and where is safer than there?”

Eskel sighed. “No. That’s not why. Not all of it, anyways.” He glanced at Geralt. It was such a sidelong glance that it made him look almost bashful. Or maybe just nervous. There was something unsettled about it that made Matt worry; it nagged at the steady pile of anxieties he’d been building up ever since this whole thing started. 

Geralt raised an eyebrow at him.

“Trevor’s father wanted me in clothes from this place,” Eskel said with an almost bitter twist to his mouth, some parody of a smile. “To set Trevor at ease.”

Matt struggled to keep his face blank. He almost wasn’t able to manage it. Everything he’d learned about Eskel pointed to the idea that here was a man both dangerous and over cautious to the point of paranoia. But he was deliberately going to let himself feel open to attack just because Gabriel Belmont wanted him to look a little more normal. That level of obedience, or devotion, was profoundly disturbing. More so because Matt had met Belmont Senior.

“They wouldn’t care. Neither of them,” Geralt said gently. 

Eskel just shrugged. 

Geralt watched Eskel with piercing eyes.

“Are you doing this for Gabriel or for Trevor?” There was a weight of meaning in his voice that Matt could hear but didn't really understand.

He understood the way Eskel blushed and lowered his head even less.

“Both.”

A slight worry line formed on Geralt’s brow, but Iga just smiled and ran a finger down Eskel’s jaw.

“You witchers really are well suited to our Prince,” she said.

That only made Eskel’s face turn fire engine red, and the smirk that grew on Geralt’s face was nothing short of filthy.

Matt looked at the attractive sight that Iga made perched on Eskel's knee, and then at Eskel's scarred face and throat, and wondered how someone could choose the witchers over the bombshell that Iga was. If anything, that just confirmed that Belmont Sr. had a definite type. Also, it made Matt think that both the witchers were sleeping with him.

He was starting to consider keeping a scorecard for who slept with who.

There was a knock at the door. Probably the food.

Matt went to check it out. Logically he knew that they were so far up the Tower that everything was vetted twice, but since he was here already it wouldn't hurt to make sure.

He didn’t step in front of the door. Never even crossed the sightline. Instead, he stayed right, keeping himself facing the titanium reinforced, ytong walls. When he reached it, he pushed a tasteful picture of the Castlevania Bridge at night aside to show a digital screen behind it. 

At a touch, the screen came to life. On it was the video feed from the space in front of the doors, as well as the view along the rest of the corridors on this floor, all filmed from hidden cameras. They were all on a closed circuit. No wifi to hack into, just real cables hidden in the walls. Only the people on this floor had access to those cameras. 

He touched a small trackball set into wall just below the screen and manipulated the cameras, making sure that they moved freely and that the hard drive was properly storing the last ninety hours of recordings. The screen showed the kitchen server departing from the elevator, pushing a cart filled to bursting with food along the plushly carpeted corridors. 

Matt recognized the server. He made sure to know and vet all the people who had access to the personal floors of the tower. This server had been hired about six months ago. He had a degree in hospitality management and a long term boyfriend. They had a dog, an old german shepherd.

Matt turned off the screen, pushed the picture of the bridge back into place, and went to the door. When he took hold of the handle, he could feel two small bumps on the back of it. One would release the lock and all sixteen bolts on the titanium reinforced, fireproof door, and the other would trigger a silent alarm.

He opened the door.

“Hey, Jeff,” he greeted the waiter and stepped aside, letting him enter.

“Hey, Mr. Snow,” Jeff said with a friendly wave. “Where do you want this?”

Matt motioned to one side of the room, next to a small table. It only took a moment for Jeff to unload all the various dishes, drinks, and silverware, and he did so with barely a glance towards the bed. Then he was out the door with as much haste as was reasonable.

The speed of service wasn’t just because he was a good server, though he was. It was because Eskel, Iga, and Geralt all watched him like he owed them money. There was a sharp, predatory feel to their gaze; one that Matt hadn’t really noticed directed much toward him or his security team. 

Iga was the first one to move. After the server left, she sighed and slumped in Eskel’s lap, her lips turned into a sad moue.

“That one is more Ian’s than mine.” She sounded incredibly sad about that fact.

“How is Ian doing?” Geralt asked. “He found someone to fuck yet?”

Matt turned to get himself a cup of juice from the table, hiding his expression from the group until he could get it under control. Holy shit, what was with these people?

“The last time I saw him, he was still bemoaning the fact that was living like a monk. Every man willing to sleep with him was already taken, and he hadn’t found a way to talk the ones who only liked women into trying his attentions.” Then she turned to Geralt. “Your daughter also said a truly horrible thing to him, by the way.”

“What?!” 

Matt turned around in time to see Geralt gasp in shock. 

“She said he’s not her type,” Iga said, sounding outraged. “He’s everybody’s type!” Then she pointed at herself. “Like me.”

“Ahhhhh.” Geralt calmed a little, and started chewing on his lower lip. “She’s...reserved. As well as she’s kept track of my,” he coughed, “numerous exploits, I’ve kept my eye on her. As much as anyone can keep an eye on someone like her. She doesn’t show interest in hardly anyone. Which is fine!” Geralt held up a hand, forestalling nonexistent objections. “I’d care about her either way. I just want her to be happy.”

“You know…” Eskel said, a little haltingly. “Maybe she looked at us witchers when she was growing up and now expects men to look more like us?” He waved his hand at his scarred face. “Ian is very…” He trailed off.

“Pretty,” Geralt finished for him.

“Yes. Very, very pretty.” The way Eskel said it didn’t sound like he was admiring Ian’s many charms. More, he sounded like he was just stating a fact. The sun rose in the east, Ian was the prettiest man alive. 

“Ian is very gifted,” Iga added with a smirk. “If you know what I mean.”

Both witchers snorted in amusement. 

“I’d be shocked if he wasn’t,” Geralt said.

Eskel shot a look to Matt and narrowed his eyes.

_Oh shit._

“This one looks more like a witcher than a pretty boy,” Eskel drawled thoughtfully.

“Reaaaally.” Geralt looked Matt up and down, clearly evaluating his goods. 

Matt had never felt quite so _objectified_. 

“Iga...” Geralt turned to the woman. “Have you had any luck with him yet? He any good?”

“She has not,” Matt said firmly, walking over to take his seat closer to the group. He could feel his face burn, but he ignored it. “Nor will she.”

She tilted her head and watched Matt.

“If I had to guess, he has all the traits of a good lover. Attracted to women. Men don’t seem to make an impression beyond the professional kind. Rather on the soft side. He’s empathic but also confident, so I don’t think he would be tempted to use his partner as a way to stroke his own ego. Well trained. I suspect good stamina. He tends to avoid physical contact with me, definitely doesn’t initiate it so I would say he would let his partner lead until he was sure of the limits. Can’t say anything about his experience, but he’s been very controlled when dealing with me. I would say he is a good choice for inexperienced or first time lovers.” Iga rattled the evaluation off fast, sounding damn sure of her words.

Matt blinked. Hard. Then he pursed his lips. A part of him could not believe this was happening. Another part of him was completely unsurprised.

“While I appreciate the positive review, I’d much rather we choose a different subject of conversation,” Matt said evenly. It was important to stay polite, but boundaries were important too, and the last damn thing he needed was for them to start demanding measurements.

Now both Geralt and Eskel looked at him with eyes narrowed, then they shared a glance. 

Worrisome.

“We’ll let it slide for now,” Geralt said after a moment. “But should Ciri decide she’d like to take you for a ride, we’ll be talking again.”

Matt rubbed his face for a moment. Fucking hell, he hadn’t even asked her out on a date yet and already he was getting the shovel talk. He thought about the look of her legs as she slipped off her leather pants, and the shining green of her eyes. Then he thought about her obvious strength, both physically and in the way that she wasn’t afraid to ask Belmont Sr. some pointed questions. 

Despite her family, Matt found himself still interested.

He looked back up and with as much dignity as he could muster, he said, “I haven’t had a quiet moment to talk to Ciri yet, but it would be massively unprofessional for me to get personally involved with my client’s...family.” That netted him nothing but frowns. “Even if I were to ask her out, I would be a gentleman about it.”

Geralt snorted. “If you’re not well mannered enough, Ciri will just gut you. I’ve no worries on that front. I would like to make sure you’ve got enough staying power to please her.” He paused, and frowned. “How often can normal human men come? Twice? Three times?” He cast a worried look to Iga. 

This couldn’t be happening. 

“Once is the norm,” Iga said. “Depending on age they can go more than that but need rest between the rounds. Longer rest than the two minutes it takes Eskel.”

“I was high on potions that time,” Eskel protested with a slight blush.

Holy shit, this was really happening. Matt covered his face with one hand and dragged his palm down to cover his mouth.

Iga smiled, her eyes sparkling. “Eyra and I walked out of your bedroom bow legged,” she said with a sigh. “I wish you would get high on potions more often.”

“Can we not discuss that night please?” Eskel asked pleadingly, still faintly blushing.

“Seconded,” Matt added.

“You were a beast,” Iga said, looking dreamy. “Over and over and over again. Amazing.”

“When was this?” Geralt asked with interest.

Eskel rubbed his face and sighed. “When we got back from Steingard’s dungeon. After the baths.”

That sounded familiar. Matt furrowed his brow and thought about it. Something Trevor had mentioned…

It suddenly hit him. Back when Trevor and his father were talking about Geralt’s wolf medallion, they’d mentioned something about a dungeon. Holy shit, did that mean that after getting freed from someone’s private prison, Eskel went on a marathon sex spree? 

“Oh.” Geralt nodded slowly, then stared off into space, also with a dreamy look on his face. “That was a good night.”

“Yes, it was,” Iga confirmed, leaning in to kiss Eskel on the corner of his lips. From the way Eskel tilted into her just slightly, Matt could tell they were close and that Eskel liked her a great deal, more than one usually liked a whore. The fact both men asked her for opinion also indicated respect Matt wasn’t expecting to be directed at a sex slave. It made him wonder if there was something more going on here.

“Just so you know...” Iga said quietly, and one of her hands slid up over Eskel’s arm until it rested on his bicep. The small size of her hand only served to emphasize the sheer size of Eskel’s muscles. “Both of us are very willing to help you out if you ever need it again.” She kissed the corner of his lips again, and then moved in for a more direct hit. “Very willing.”

Matt could see how Eskel first tilted into the kiss before pulling away and gently forcing more distance between them.

Eskel gave her an apologetic smile. “I need to watch Geralt---” 

“Hey!” Geralt pouted.

“---But I bet you could bring a smile to that doctor’s face. Poor man looks incredibly stressed out.”

Matt did his best not to hear that last comment, grateful that his boss’s guests got distracted by food soon enough. Just to make sure that the conversation got diverted in that direction, he nodded towards the food. “Dinner’s up.”

It was a bit like watching a swarm of locusts descend. All the soft foods were reserved for Geralt, who all but inhaled them while looking with a jealous eye at the steak Eskel demolished. Matt knew some guys that could put away food like nobody’s business, what with serving in the army for years, but Eskel definitely took the cake here. He put away three steaks like it was nothing and was still picking through the spread. Geralt was at least feeling good enough that he could feed himself, no longer relying on Eskel to spoon feed him.

Iga was a surprise. She descended on the spread with no less appetite than the men, and she was definitely aiming for the juicy meat offerings rather than the salads. The way she sighed mournfully at the rare steak made Matt think she’d probably just like a piece of raw meat instead. 

Far faster than Matt ever would have expected, the food buffet had been picked clean. Geralt seemed grumbly, but mostly satisfied. Eskel kept eyeing the empty plates. The furtive little looks were enough for Matt to send a text down to the catering requesting a slight increase in the amount of food. After a moment of thought, he also requested some tartare and sushi. He hoped that he was completely off the mark with his gut feeling on Iga’s food desires, but just in case he wasn’t, those foods might satisfy her more. 

As weird as it was to even think about that, at this point in the week Matt was just going to roll with it. 

While he really wouldn’t have minded a cup of coffee, he had to admit it was probably a good thing that there still weren’t any caffeinated beverages in the spread. He couldn’t even imagine what Eskel and Geralt would be like hyped up on espresso. 

“If you all were so hungry, why didn’t you just call John or I and ask for food to be sent up?” Matt finally asked. “You didn’t have to send Iga downstairs.” 

He’d kept his seat while they ate, despite it going against his usual protocol. Somewhere on Geralt’s body was a knife, and one that couldn’t be picked up by any scanning equipment that Matt knew of. The last thing he wanted to do was make that man nervous. 

There was a pause as Geralt, Eskel, and Iga all exchanged a look. What that look meant, Matt couldn’t guess at.

“How would you prefer us to call you in the future?” Eskel asked evenly.

Matt opened his mouth and almost said ‘by phone’, but hesitated. He remembered, suddenly, their reaction to television.

“There are communication devices in this room,” he said, pulling out his own phone and showing it to them as an example. “I could get each of you one like this. You could call me whenever you needed to.”

An extremely worrying look of glee crossed Geralt’s face. 

“Really?” Geralt said. “Would you show us?”

Okay, that was it. They needed to be trained in modern technology. This finding out after the fact shit was not something they could keep up long term. 

“Yes." Matt made sure to keep the exasperation and concern out of his face and voice. They’d really just confirmed what he’d feared; they knew nothing about how the modern world worked. “I’m also going to ask John to prepare a few lessons for you. There is a lot of advanced technology in this room and in this tower. You need to know how to use the camera, security system, communications systems, and the panic rooms.”

He was texting as he spoke. There might have been a few more exclamation marks in the texts than he usually allowed himself to use, but he felt the situation justified it.

“Lessons?” Geralt asked, sounding interested.

“Knowing John, you will get a full multimedia presentation with interactive quizzes,” he said a tad wryly. John had a habit of being a perfectionist, which was probably what landed him this job in the first place.

Both Geralt and Eskel looked intrigued, but Iga simply looked amused. 

In under a minute, John had texted him back.

_Wait. How little do they know? Do I need a ‘welcome to the 21st century’ crash course, or just ‘this is what an iphone is’?_

_Don’t know what a phone is or how to use it. Didn’t know what TV was. They learn extremely fast though,_ Matt sent back.

_...Check. I’ll have a crash course put together in an hour, and we can figure out what else we need once I’m up there._

“Were you just talking to someone?” Geralt asked, eyeing Matt’s phone.

“Yes. This allows me to send short, written messages to other people who have the same kind of device.”

“Talking without talking,” Eskel said. “Brilliant.”

“Humans have come a long way,” Iga said, her eyebrows raised. 

Which was an incredibly weird way to phrase that particular statement. 

“Do you think Triss and Yennefer have something like this?” Eskel asked. 

Geralt shook his head. “They have their mirrors, like the rest of the Lodge. Granted, they’re limited to contacting someone else who has one as well and can activate it, but it offers sound and an image.”

Alright, so maybe they weren’t totally ignorant of technology, although whatever this ‘mirror’ tech Geralt was talking about obviously didn’t look anything like a phone. He wondered if ‘mirror’ was the product line or the name brand.

Unless they were really talking about an actual mirror. A week ago he would have completely disregarded that idea. Hell, it wouldn’t even have come to mind. But the events of the last few days had left him questioning a lot of things. Every time he started to forget about the strangeness, all he had to do was look at Geralt and Eskel’s eyes to be reminded that he was mostly in the fucking dark about whatever the hell they were involved in.

“Phones can do sound and image too, but John will be up in a bit to show you all that,” Matt said, pocketing his phone. “He’s better at this sort of thing than I am. Part of his job, really.”

“He seems like a smart man,” Eskel said, standing up and stretching. Damn, but Eskel was built like a brick shithouse; the muscles straining at his shirt as he rolled his shoulders only emphasized that.

“Kid needs to relax a little.” Geralt shook his head. “Maybe go for a roll in the hay with you, Iga. Poor guy looks so damn overworked.”

Iga raised her hand like an eager student. “I’m on it!”

Matt did not facepalm, but he wanted to very, very badly.

Geralt nodded at her encouragingly. “You’re a gem,” he said warmly, taking a moment to trail his gaze down her neckline. 

“All in the name of balanced nutrition,” she said. “Lambert is fantastic and all, but Eskel barely visits. You are off the market completely and Vesemir is stubborn as a mule about it.” She shrugged. “A girl needs some change once in a while.”

“Trust me, if I wasn’t very, very taken, I would give you a ride you wouldn’t forget.” Geralt smirked at her. 

“So you keep saying.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Without proof, I won’t believe it.”

Right as Geralt was opening his mouth in outrage, Eskel pointed at him sharply. “No! No, I am not listening to another story about how long and how often and how you nearly passed out, and how you _did_ make…other parties pass out. There isn’t nearly enough booze here for that.”

“Pfft,” Iga snorted. “Men like to try and convince women that this,” she held her pointer and thumb fingers about an inch apart, “is actually this.” She moved her hands about two feet apart. “It’s why I don't believe stories.”

The look Eskel gave her was one of pure longsuffering. “They are not just tall tales.” He rolled his eyes and looked up to the ceiling for a moment. Possibly praying for strength.

“Male loyalty,” Iga shot back. “You like to back each other’s play up.”

“You’re telling me that you can’t smell it when they’re done?” Eskel raised an eyebrow at her. Geralt just smiled smugly. 

“Well...” she drawled and Matt knew, just _knew_, that she was going to say something outrageous. She had that sparkle in her eyes and her lips curled up wickedly. “I do know Geralt is the one that gets taken for a ride most of the time, not the one…offering the rides.” She was all but wiggling her brows in delight.

What was even more outrageous was how Geralt just sighed happily. “So many rides.”

“See?” She turned to Eskel. “He might as well have forgotten how to offer a girl a proper ride, if he ever knew in the first place.” Then she turned to Matt, while Geralt sputtered in outrage. “And you Matt? Do you know how to be a good ride?” 

Now everybody was looking at him expectantly. There was no goddamn way he was answering the question honestly, though. Hell no.

“_Riding_ is what one does on _horseback_,” he said calmly. “Yes, I have been trained how to handle the beasts. I have also been trained to drive a whole variety of cars and motorcycles, as well as sea and air transportation devices.”

“He’s got you there, Iga,” Geralt said, snickering.

While they’d been talking, Eskel had been running through a series of warm up stretches. His range of flexibility was very surprising, given his size. A lot of big guys that Matt knew weren’t nearly that limber. They focused just on building muscle rather than caring for their joints as well. 

At Eskel’s raised eyebrow, Geralt pointed to the chest where Matt knew Geralt’s blades had been stored. Eskel took both swords out and set them on the bed. Within easy reach of Geralt, Matt noted. Both were damn long blades, though Matt didn’t really know the right name for what type they were. One had a round pommel emblazoned with a sun in glory, and the other had twin silver wolf heads. He could tell that the craftsmanship was both exquisite and unique. They had to be handmade. 

Eskel unsheathed the one with the round pommel, and walked over to an open space in the middle of the room. It was interesting to see how Geralt’s hand rested on the wolf head pommel, even as he watched Eskel move away. His fingers trailed over the hilt like he was petting a cat, not a sword. 

As Eskel moved, he spun the sword in lazy circles, clearly stretching out his wrist. Then he switched hands and repeated the movement. On the last spin of the blade, he ended up with the sword held the way some knife fighters held their blades, tucked up under their forearm. Considering the weapon was a _fucking broadsword_, Matt was more than a little surprised. Not that he knew jack shit about swords, but that kind of weight in that position had to be rough to hold. 

At this angle, he could see that strange runes and glyphs had been etched all down the length of the steel blade. They seemed to shine, almost. If Matt didn’t know better he’d say that they glowed even. The other one must have been the silver blade. Matt should have guessed, actually. The wolf head decoration was a big clue, and it seemed like Geralt had aesthetic preferences.

“Matt,” Geralt said with a wave. “Start getting stuff to throw. Like knives, get your knives ready.”

Matt blinked. He was wearing a couple of knives, but that was still only _two_ blades. One of which was a utility knife, the same type that paramedics kept on hand. Not suited for throwing, not even a little. He might as well throw a rock.

Besides, he wasn’t about to admit to having the knives nor would he show where he’d hid them. Instead, he reached into his pocket for the change that rattled there and pulled out a handful.

He was a goddamn chief of security, he was not going to throw live blades at any of his charges, no matter what they asked for.

He threw a penny at Eskel’s head, not really expecting much. Maybe a dodge. That would have made sense. What actually happened was Eskel swung the blade, almost so fast that Matt barely saw the movement; he only heard the sharp ping of steel on steel.

“Man, and I thought I was getting rusty,” Geralt heckled from his bed.

Eskel growled but didn’t stop the slow movements of the sword through the air, switching from holding it in his right hand to his left after every full circle.

“Come on, throw something else at him!” 

Eskel nodded at Matt, clearly on board with the harebrained idea.

This time Matt flung the coin low, almost at Eskel’s knee, and then threw another one at his shoulder in quick succession. The flash of blade coming down to shield the knees was almost expected, but the tight, almost horizontal flip in place to escape the second coin was not. Eskel landed softly like a cat, exactly in the place he started, and continued the slow circles of his blade.

There was a worrying movement off to the side, and Matt glanced over to see Geralt twirling a small blade in his hand. It was the one Belmont Sr. had given him. Geralt’s movements were slow and careful, probably in deference to his injuries, but it was obvious that they flowed naturally.

What was also obvious was that he was thinking about throwing it at Eskel. There was a speculative quality to his gaze.

Eskel must have noticed too, though he didn’t seem to even be looking at Geralt. “You throw your only blade at me and I’m not giving it back.”

“I wouldn’t throw this one. Gabriel gave it to me.” There was a pleased smile on his face. 

“Lucky dog,” Eskel muttered, speeding up his movements. “Those things are unreal.”

“Master gave you one of his blades?” Iga raised her eyebrows in surprise. She flicked her fingers and Eskel jerked. Instead of using his sword to deflect the projectile, he caught it in his hand and popped it into his mouth without looking at her. She smirked, lifting up the grapes she was picking at. 

Realizing he was slacking, Matt threw three more coins in rapid succession. Each one was deflected adroitly. 

Fucking hell, Eskel was fast.

Rather than answering Iga directly, Geralt just looked more smug. “Eskel, give me some of yours.”

“You can barely lift that one, you think I want you tossing steel?”

“I don’t have to toss them far,” Geralt grumbled.

“Iga, give him some grapes,” Eskel sighed.

Now Matt was interested to see how fast Eskel could get. He started flicking the coins as fast as he could, choosing directions at random. Whatever Eskel didn’t manage to block, he avoided by performing amazingly tight aerial jumps that Matt was frankly in awe of.

Throughout it all, Iga and Geralt peppered him with grapes. Some he caught in his hand, and then tossed in his mouth. Some he directly caught in his teeth. For all the beauty of his quick and efficient movements, there was something incredibly feral about it all. He was aware of his body in ways very few trained soldiers were. Matt knew; he worked his ass off to build that kind of awareness and he had to admit that his skill was nothing much compared to the easy, almost effortless way Eskel was conscious of everything happening around him.

Sooner than he liked, Matt found himself out of change to throw. “I’m empty,” he said, holding up his open hands.

Rather than stopping, Eskel just took a few steps back and said, “Grab them, and throw them at me again. Or find something heavier.”

“Do you have wood blocks?” Geralt asked. “He could practice his cutting while we throw.”

_Really?_

But everyone involved looked serious, despite the fact that they’d just requested he start tossing two by fours at Eskel’s head. 

“Mr. Belmont might object to the mess,” he said instead, hoping that would be enough to discourage them.

Geralt sighed sadly and Eskel actually pouted for a minute.

“This _is_ a nice room,” Iga said, looking around.

“Trevor has good taste,” Eskel said. The words came out conversationally, as if he hadn’t spent the last half hour swinging around a giant piece of metal and jumping every other minute. As if he _still_ wasn’t swinging said piece of metal. Hell, even if it was a plastic wand, he should have been at least a little winded by now. But he wasn’t even breathing hard.

Holy fuck, who were these people? When Eskel had first shown up, he’d looked around at Matt’s men in open scorn, stating he could easily take them all himself. Matt had been a little offended at the time, but now he had to really wonder.

The chime at the door sounded again and Matt’s phone vibrated. John. He had the code for the door, but preferred to wait to be let in, always conscious of his employer’s privacy.

Matt took a look at the security camera just to lead by example, and to appease his very well developed paranoia.

John was standing in front of the door, the employee ID pinned neatly to his pocket. Matt wished everyone at the Tower wore their ID’s in such a visible spot.

He opened the door, letting the other man in.

“John,” he nodded in greeting. 

He was shocked by the surge of camaraderie he felt when he saw him. John was the only one he could talk with about the ridiculous things that kept happening to him this week. He worried a little about how vulnerable John was with Belmont Sr. around. Of all of the staff in close contact with Geralt, John was the one with the least physical training. On the other hand, that also meant that John wasn’t being asked to join in on training with Eskel, so maybe he was actually getting off light.

“Matt.” The other man smiled at him. He held up a stack of tablets. “Ready for Tech 101?”

“Yes, please,” Matt said with no little relief, moving aside to let him in.

John only made it a few steps before stopping in his tracks, jaw dropped and eyes wide. While Matt had been at the door, Eskel had grabbed Geralt’s other sword, and was now spinning both around him in a way that looked effortless but couldn’t possibly have been. Iga and Geralt continued to pelt him with grapes, but this time Eskel wasn’t eating them. It took Matt a moment to see, the grapes were just so small, but it looked like he was twisting his blades as he spun them, bouncing each grape off the flat of the blade.

The sheer skill it must have taken to do that, to actually make sure each piece of fruit was bounced and not cut open, was mind boggling. 

“Holy shit,” John muttered. Matt had to agree. 

They stepped forward and Matt took his seat. John stood there nervously for a moment, watching Eskel move.

Then Iga spotted John, and her eyes lit up like it was Christmas. 

“Hi, there,” she purred, stretching out where she was perched on the edge of the heavy mahogany table. “My name is Iga.”

John visibly swallowed. “Hello. I’m John Smith, Mr. Belmont’s personal assistant.” He held up the tablets. “I brought you all something to get started on. I just need to, uh. Get this set up.”

Very quickly, John hustled over to a panel in the wall. A press of a hidden button opened it up to reveal the controls for the projector on the wall. 

Suddenly, Matt remembered the conversation he and Iga had had in the elevator. Hard on the heels of that was how Geralt had asked her to find John and fuck him. It seemed like, well, not an _innocent_ request, but a willing and good natured one. But after finding out that Iga was a slave and not an employee, Matt couldn’t help but worry about her ability to consent. 

There wasn’t really anything he could do about it right at that moment, though. He had to watch, quietly, as Iga smiled and fluttered her eyelashes at John.

As far as he knew, John wasn’t seeing anyone. Serious relationships had to be investigated in the regular background checks, but short term things weren’t looked into. At the very least, it meant that John didn’t have a spouse at home to distract him from Iga’s charms. 

While John was setting the screen up, Eskel had slowly come to a stop. There was a bit of sweat on his shirt, but he still didn’t look like he was at all tired. 

And this was the guy who wanted to fight Matt. _For fun_. 

Briefly, Matt hoped that whatever John had set up would be particularly engrossing. Maybe they would all get lucky and Eskel and Geralt would spend the next week surfing the internet. 

Eskel returned the swords to Geralt’s sheaths and laid them both back on the bed. Then he took his regular seat as John wandered around handing each of them a tablet. 

“We’ll start with these,” John said. “This is a tablet. It has all the functions of Matt’s phone, plus a whole bunch of others. Some of which, like how it can hook up with the security interface, Matt will have to show you later. But for right now, I’m going to show you how you can call either of us and send us messages, either voice or text.”

As he handed one of the tablets to Iga, she arched up a little in place, showing off her very attractive and very low neckline. 

“Can I sit next to you and look over your shoulder?” she asked with a hopeful smile. “I love being able to see what I’m working with.”

John actually squeaked, and took a step back. “No! No. I mean, that’s, uh, that’s not really needed. I’ve got a powerpoint…” He waved inanely at the wall that the projector screen had scrolled open on. “You’ll all be able to see, uh, just fine. And step by step.”

She made a little moue of regret, her full lips pulling down, and made sure to cradle John’s hands before she actually took the tablet from him.

John scrambled backwards, and turned around to give Matt a _look_. Matt couldn’t quite pin exactly what that look meant, but he guessed it was somewhere between ‘what the fuck’ and ‘why didn’t you warn me?’ The best he could do in response was purse his lips a bit and blink. Anything more would definitely give their table talk away, and Geralt, Eskel, and Iga all seemed like extremely perceptive people. 

John took a seat next to Matt, and pressed a button on a small remote. The projector screen lit up to display his opening slide, ‘Technology 101: Saying Hello!’. 

Before he could even say a word, Geralt piped up. “What are the numbers one-oh-one for?”

“...It’s a school thing,” John said. “Like, in college, the classes are numbered in the hundreds. A basic class is one-oh-one, but an advanced class might be numbered in the four hundreds or higher.”

“Ah.” Geralt blinked, and then looked down to the blank screen on his tablet. “And college is…?”

John took a breath, clearly reorganizing things in his head. “Advanced education, basically. It doesn’t matter. The title just means that this is basic information.”

Over the next half hour, John stepped them through how to make a phone call, how to send a text message, how to specifically contact Matt or him, how to contact each other, how to take pictures, and how to use the paint program. 

Matt wasn’t sure what to think of the fact that within five minutes of being shown what Google was, Iga managed to find a porn site. Geralt was, oddly enough, sucked into watching cat videos on youtube. Eskel had managed to stumble into the security app without any help. The speed at which they were learning was astounding for grown people, especially for people who Matt expected would have some misgivings about advanced technology. 

While they were all distracted, Matt quietly pulled John aside and asked, “Meet me before our shift ends? So we can go over plans for the next few days?”

John just nodded, looking a little exasperated. Several times over the lesson, he’d been struck dumb by some of the questions asked.   
On the one hand, all three of their guests were very well behaved and eager for learning, obviously paying attention and not once letting their attention stray. Matt saw that kind of focus in a mixed adult group only during Ranger training, where soldiers were too well trained to do anything else. On the other hand, some of the questions were outlandish while others were almost too insightful.

Iga had questions about prostitution and how it could be facilitated through online communication. This led to John pointing her in the direction of an archive of municipal and national laws, detailing out what was restricted and what wasn’t. To Matt’s mild surprise, Iga actually stayed interested, even when confronted with the wall of text. 

Geralt’s comments about take-out dining were even less logical, but made Eskel laugh so hard he almost choked on the grapes he was eating. This only caused Iga to accuse Geralt of being jealous.

Eskel very firmly asked Matt to show him how the security app worked, and quickly began browsing through the directory and help functions. Soon enough, he was flipping through security feeds and looking over building schematics. 

Geralt seemed to hop from subject to subject, asking questions about everything from pet ownership to modern weaponry to city history. 

All of them had a ridiculous number of questions about the technology that they’d seen in the past few days. It seemed that once the flood gates on that was open, a deluge of questions came tumbling out. It was enough that John promised to come back the next afternoon and give them another tutoring session. 

Eventually, it was time for the doctor and nurses to come in and get Geralt set up for the night. Matt and John both stayed long enough to make sure that everything went smoothly. There was a quick cleaning and Geralt got another set of stitches out. The staples in his torso were still in, but after giving them a solid evaluation, Dr. Miller suggested they might be ready to take out in another day or so. 

Right as the medical staff were finishing up, Matt noticed that Iga was distracted by Dr. Miller, and Dr. Miller looked equally distracted by her. He knew, he _knew_, there wasn’t anything he could do if Iga was hellbent on getting fucked by someone here. All he had control over were his own people. But Iga’s distraction was a good opportunity. As subtly as he could, he caught John’s gaze and nodded towards the door. Immediately, John caught his meaning, and had slipped out without another word. At the very least, Matt could save John some trouble. 

So when the doctor and nurses filed out, Iga trailed along right after, much to Geralt and Eskel’s amusement. 

“You two need anything before I head home for the night?” Matt asked once it was just the three of them.

Eskel and Geralt looked at each other for a moment, and then they both shook their heads.

“We can order our own food now,” Geralt said, pointing to his tablet. It was still silently playing cat videos. 

“Just make sure everyone is cleared out of the floor before you leave,” Eskel added. “Except Iga. She’s welcome up here whenever.”

Geralt looked sourly at Eskel for a moment.

“Hush,” Eskel said with a roll of his eyes. “I won’t fuck her in front of you. Besides, I think she’s busy already.”

Geralt snorted.

“You got that right, poor guy didn’t even know what hit him.”

“Right? Gods.” Eskel snickered. “She’s a force of nature.”

Matt blinked hard and tried not to rub his hand down his face. “Alright,” he finally said. “I’m headed out, then. Please, _please_, call me if there is an issue. Being on call is part of my job.”

“I promise not to kill anyone while you're gone,” Eskel said mildly. “I’ll make sure Iga doesn’t either.”

With that dubious piece of humor? Reassurance? Matt decided to get the hell out of there and meet up with John. He needed a drink, a strong one, and they needed to figure out what the hell to do for the next few days. And maybe try and figure out what was going on, too.

\---

Eskel flipped through the views from the different security cameras, getting familiar with the angles and how the technology worked. There were views of corridors, other bedrooms, and offices, as well as what he immediately knew to be Alucard’s portal room. It had more than one view, with different angles and zoom options. 

He liked the little gestures needed to make the image bigger or smaller, or turning it around. The whole ability to take pictures and then be able to look at them at his leisure would have been so helpful while investigating things on the Path. All he could normally do was rely on his memory---which, granted, was good---but often he didn’t have the time to investigate a scene right before he had to run. Or fight. Or the weather washed away all traces. The pictures could make an amazing proof, as well as addition to the bestiaries they kept for other witchers.

He looked at the marks carved into the green marble walls in the portal room, recognizing the same glyphs he saw in the portal room in the castle. Here they ran up and down the four walls of the room, carved deep into the stone. The floor was black, and when Eskel zoomed in he saw that similar glyphs were carved into the floor, circling around in the room. On the walls, between the panels of green marble, were black wooden doors polished to high shine. They were probably portals keyed to different places. Outside of the gold-colored trim along the base of the wall, there were no other decorations in the room.

“Eskel,” Geralt said, interrupting his train of thought. “I didn’t get a chance to ask earlier.”

“Hrm?” Eskel looked up and raised an eyebrow. Geralt was looking at him with a sly kind of curiosity. It didn’t precisely unsettle him, but it did make him sit up at attention. 

“You never told me the details about Dracula and Alucard both biting you.”

Instantly, Eskel’s face burned. Of course Geralt wanted details. “They didn’t. Well. Dracula did, back at Kaer Morhen. But…” he licked his lips nervously.

“But?” Geralt leaned forward a bit. 

“At the hospital, while you were sleeping. Dracula bit me and I, uh.” Eskel rubbed a hand over his neck absently. “I offered Alucard a taste. And Dracula egged him on. Alucard didn’t bite, didn’t even really feed. He just...tasted.”

The sensation of Alucard’s lips on his throat, tongue on his wounds, came flooding back, right along with the feel of Dracula’s impossibly strong hands holding him still. 

“Tasted,” Geralt repeated.

Eskel nodded. “The bites Dracula left hadn’t healed up. So Alucard...sucked.” He shrugged, trying to downplay how much that whole event had affected him. Still affected him. He took a breath.

“Sucked,” Geralt repeated again, sounding strangled.

“Yeah. Then Dracula bit me again. He drank, and then shared my blood with Alucard in a kiss.” Just thinking about it made his cheeks burn, and a little curl of warmth glow inside his gut. “I don’t think Alucard has ever had human blood like that. Or at all.” He swallowed hard, and shook his head. “But Ciri was right there, watching. And you know how Alucard is. He wouldn’t have been alright with her seeing anything else. So I got him out of there. Or, at least, I reminded him that Ciri was watching and he got himself and Dracula out of there.”

Geralt rubbed at his face.

“It must have been amazing,” he said after a moment, sounding rough.

“Yeah. But…” Eskel ran a finger across the soft bedspread. “Confusing. I...might be reconsidering my stance on no sex with men.”

He looked up at Geralt out of the corner of his eye, trying to gauge his reaction. Prior to this relationship with the vampires, Eskel would have never, not once, pegged Geralt as being jealous. But more than once Geralt had snapped and growled about Eskel stealing Dracula and Alucard’s affection. Not seriously, not even a great deal, but it was enough that Eskel worried. Geralt was his brother, not by blood, but in every other way. Eskel would sooner be celibate for the rest of his life than fuck up Geralt’s chance at happiness. 

Geralt looked at him, his brow wrinkled in worry. “Men in general or Dracula and Alucard in specific.”

Time to fess up. 

Eskel clenched his jaw. “Dracula and Alucard in specific. Maybe. I--- I don’t know. Yet.” He lifted up his chin and looked Geralt in the eye. “I wouldn’t have done anything until I talked to you about it. And I don’t have to do anything, either. It’s alright for you to want to have them for yourself.”

“I know you wouldn’t go behind my back,” Geralt said gently. Almost too gently.

Eskel waited, eyeing Geralt warily. 

“But?” he prompted, sensing that Geralt clearly wanted to say something.

Geralt exhaled slowly.

“It’s not a surprise, you know.”

A bitter grimace twisted on Eskel’s face. “So I’ve heard.”

“Heard what?” Geralt shifted on the bed, turning more fully towards Eskel.

It was easier to focus on the soft feel of the blanket under his hand than it was to look at Geralt. Cowardly, maybe, but this whole situation was a bit fucked, and Eskel was feeling the need for at least a little distance from the churning emotions inside of him. 

“Seems everyone is pretty certain I’m already fucking both of them, and if I’m not, that I should be.” Eskel sighed and shook his head. “I guess I’m the slow one here.” 

He wasn’t sure, though. Eskel didn’t know if that was what he wanted at all. And as much as he loved his shit-talking little family, sometimes the teasing really didn’t help.

Geralt ran his tongue over his teeth, obviously mulling through something.

“You react to Dracula in a way that…” Geralt hesitated. “I don’t think you would let him this close if you didn’t want to go there, too, at least on some level.”

Eskel raised an eyebrow at Geralt and gave him a dry smirk. “As if I have a choice most of the time.” He looked into nothing for a moment, thinking back to Steingard’s dungeon. How he’d been chained up, hurt, writhing with both pain and pleasure as Dracula forced power down his throat. “I didn’t at first. Sometimes I think I do now, but I can’t tell. And…” he swallowed. “I need it so much I don’t think I care. It’s driving me crazy.”

“He marked you as his a long time ago. From his point of view, there’s no question about what he wants.”

“Oh yes, he’s made that quite clear.” Eskel rubbed his hand down his face. “He’s waiting, I guess. Watching what I’ll do. But he pushes a lot.”

“He’s gentle, you know,” Geralt said quietly. “I mean, he’s also ruthless and thinks himself incapable of gentleness, but he is incredibly protective. And forgiving. At least towards the people he cares about.”

Eskel mulled that over in his mind for a moment. That actually did set him at ease a little. Only a little, because Geralt was absolutely crazy, and Eskel knew it. Better than most. Geralt often threw himself, and his heart, into crazy situations, and though he had the same ruthless brutality that all witchers enjoyed, he also was keen to see the good in people.

“When I landed in his castle that first time, I met Alucard first,” Geralt said. “I had no idea he was in a relationship. And he was hot.” Geralt grinned. “I did my best to get him. Damn near succeeded, too.” Then he lost his smirk. “And then Dracula introduced himself, after catching us red handed, almost.”

“I’m sure that was memorable,” Eskel said with no little amusement. Fuck, he was almost afraid to try and picture the look on Dracula’s face. 

Come to think of it, that look was probably similar to the one on Geralt’s face that first time he caught Eskel and Alucard cuddling in front of the fire at Kaer Morhen.

“It wasn’t, though,” Geralt said. “I didn’t know him enough then to know, but he was seething. Angry and possibly hurt, which is damn dangerous for a man with that kind of effortless power. Yet he did nothing beyond some veiled comments.” Geralt looked Eskel in the eye. “He gave Alucard the space to choose. Looking back, I think he would have let Alucard do whatever he pleased then and would have accepted the choice no matter how painful to him.”

“He loves Alucard more than anything, except perhaps you. He’d burn all existence down for you both.”

Geralt shook his head.

“He basically runs on two settings. Somebody is _his_, or he just doesn’t care. Which category do you think you are?”

As much as Eskel wanted to protest, what Geralt said lined up with what Eskel had observed. Dracula was focused as hell. More so than anyone Eskel had ever met. 

Perhaps he didn’t need to be quite so afraid of what Dracula might do to him, if given free rein. Maybe Dracula would listen, would continue to keep him safe and cared for. It was a big idea, and one Eskel wasn’t quite sure he was willing to accept. He’d need to test the theory at some point. At the very least, it was definitely going to be food for thought for quite a while.

He pursed his lips, and then looked at Geralt. “Regardless, I’ve still not heard how you are with all this. What you think about me getting involved with sex with them.” He narrowed his eyes. “Because, on one hand, I know that you’re nearly always all for anything involving sex. But I also know damn well that you’re feeling a little possessive yourself.”

“He’s been so pleased with you for so long, and so eager to share what he managed to get out of you, I got kinda used to thinking of you as his?” Geralt shook his head. “I worked through my jealousy half a year ago, already.”

That was surprising, but maybe it shouldn’t have been. This was Geralt, after all. 

“So you’re alright with me maybe having sex with Dracula and Alucard,” Eskel stated plainly. He had to be clear on this.

Geralt blushed, just a little, but nodded. “I just don’t want to take part in it.”

“Oh, thank the Gods.” Eskel rolled his eyes with relief, and rubbed a hand down his face. “Geralt, I love you like family, but I never want to touch your dick. No offence. I’m sure it’s great. But no.”

Geralt gave him a look of mock offence, and tilted his head jauntily. “My dick _is_ great, thanks. I can’t believe you’d want to pass up this glorious opportunity.” He waved a hand down, pointing out his still bandaged torso. “I’m so damn sexy that they have to staple it in.”

Eskel snorted. “Something sure is stapled in.”

Geralt laughed and then winced, pressing his hand to his stapled-together chest.

Eskel was quiet for a long moment.

“You sure you don’t mind?”

“You make him happy.” Geralt shifted in the bed again. “You give in to him the way he enjoys the most. It makes him happy.”

At the mention of giving in, Eskel shivered a little. That was exactly what it was like. Nothing he’d ever done before was even remotely similar. 

“He can take care of you in ways he can’t me or Alucard. You give him something we can’t,” Geralt said gently.

And wasn’t that an interesting thought. Eskel frowned a little. “You two don’t...give in like that?” He’d heard a fuckton of stories, and many of them revolved around Dracula absolutely wrecking both Geralt and Alucard. “From how you two talk about it, you both seem to let him do what he wants.”

That made Geralt pause and think for a moment. “I do it differently. I don’t…I like what he does to me, I enjoy it a lot and I let him know that. But I don’t…” Geralt hesitated, casting Eskel a furtive look. “I love pleasing him, but I don’t do it the way you do.”

Eskel opened his mouth but Geralt raised his hand to silence him.

“You do, Eskel. Even in little things, you like following his orders, and not for sexual reasons.” He lowered his hand. “Alucard is a different animal altogether. He loves, absolutely _loves_ it when Dracula is rough and demanding with him, but he eggs Dracula on something fierce. He does it without words most of the time, but believe me, Alucard is the one that’s being pleased when Dracula pushes him down face down and fucks him for hours on end.”

“Alucard…”

“Is not as innocent or gentle as he looks,” Geralt said firmly. “And believe me he will push for what he wants and how he wants and where he wants.”

Somehow, that fit, too, when Eskel thought about it. How many times had Alucard shown up in his bed or next to him at the kitchen fire, asking without words to be held and cared for? Every move, every look, the way Alucard was so soft and needy, it all added up to a demand that Eskel didn’t have the will to ignore. The fact that it made Eskel feel wonderful as well just added to the appeal. 

“He is a menace,” Eskel said, voice low and rough, thinking about Alucard’s lips on his neck and hands cool around his body.

“You just now catching up?” Geralt snickered. “Sometimes he and Dracula are so alike it hurts.”

The look Eskel gave him was of resigned self-deprecation. “I told you, I think I’m pretty much the slowest one on the uptake out of all of us.”

Geralt just gave a little half shrug. “No shame in taking your time.”

“I still don’t know if I’m really attracted to men, or if it’s just Dracula and Alucard’s breath and bite fucking me up. But I didn’t want to even look at that until I talked with you.” Eskel leaned in a little, slouching on the side of the bed.

“You should think of some kind of, I don’t know, training regimen?” Geralt said thoughtfully. He twined his fingers together and rested then on his belly, obviously thinking.

Eskel raised an eyebrow, then paused to think that idea through. “Yeah. Maybe some kind of test run. Ease into it.”

“Err,” Geralt looked at him wide eyed. “Not a good idea, unless you really, _really_ don’t like that person.”

“What do you mean?” Eskel frowned.

“If you fucked some other man when Dracula is still waiting to get a chance at your goods, he would probably skin that person alive and spread their hide all over your bedroom.”

A little shiver of panic raced through Eskel, and he shook his head. “Oh Gods, no! That was not what I was thinking.” He shook his head again, tensing up at the mere thought of it. “No, I was thinking more...I don’t know, seeing if I don’t mind touching Dracula or Alucard a little more, uh, personally. I’d rather not wait until Dracula is about to shove it in before I figure out that dicks just don’t do it for me.”

“Dracula will be a better choice to experiment,” Geralt said after a moment of thought. “His absolute control of his body makes it easier for him to handle frustration and, well, Alucard is difficult on that front. He’s sometimes hit or miss with sex and if you got him all riled up, he wouldn’t say anything, but he would probably give you that _look_.”

“I’m not sure I know that look?” Eskel had to wonder. Had he seen it and just totally missed it?

Geralt looked grim.

“He says nothing. It just makes you feel like he’s this fragile little creature, that you have to do anything in your power to cherish because he will shatter otherwise.”

Eskel stared at Geralt in horror. He knew that look. It was that look that made him cuddle the vampire that first time in the kitchen. Alucard just seemed so vulnerable, so needy, Eskel didn’t have the heart to refuse. 

Oh gods.

“He does that on purpose?” Eskel asked disbelievingly.

Geralt looked even more grim.

“I have no idea,” he said. “I’m afraid to know the answer.”

Eskel considered that statement and his own history of folding like wet paper in the face of cold, sleepy, sad Alucard.

“Have you ever managed to refuse?” he asked after a moment.

Geralt looked at him with wide eyes.

“It never even crossed my mind.”

“You are so whipped,” Eskel said with an edge of panicky laughter bubbling up from deep in his chest. Here he was worrying about Dracula pressing for things, making it hard to refuse any kind of demand from him, and Alucard already got whatever he wanted. Eskel felt like he needed to find the nearest wall and hit his head a few times there. 

“At least,” Geralt said slowly. “I’m not the only one.” Then he shook his head. “Besides we were on the matter of you getting some training in before the big event.”

Eskel raised an eyebrow. “Training.”

“Eskel,” Geralt said with an edge of laughter in his voice. “If you think you can take Dracula without a fuckload of prep, you are going to be stumbling around limping for weeks.”

Stunned horror froze Eskel for a moment as various terrifying scenarios played through his head. He swallowed hard. “He wouldn’t go right for that, would he?”

“I’m sure he will stretch you first, but you will feel better if you learn to stretch _before_ the main event.” Geralt said pointedly. “Trust me, there’s a lot of him. You will thank me later for the advice.”

Eskel side-eyed Geralt, now significantly more anxious about the whole idea. “...And you like this? It’s...enjoyable?”

It seemed like a lot of work for sex. And a type of sex Eskel wasn’t even really sure he would enjoy receiving for, regardless of his still questionable attraction towards men.

“I love it,” Geralt brightened immediately. “It didn’t use to be a regular thing for me, I usually like to be the one in charge, but _fuck_. His stamina is unreal, and that’s coming from a witcher. And he has wicked patience. He’s also a fucking overachiever, but I’m not above reaping the benefits of _that_.” Geralt was still grinning. His grin faded soon enough though. “The doctors are very adamant on no sex for the foreseeable future. It’s horrible,” he mumbled, slumping against his pillows.

“I know,” Eskel said sympathetically, and he patted Geralt on the shoulder. “Maybe once you’re fit enough to move around the room a little, you can convince Alucard to blow you in the shower. Something nice and easy.”

“No.” Now Geralt sounded even more glum. “They forbid anything that would raise my heart action.” He looked with sad eyes at Eskel. “They told John, too. I bet he’s gonna tattle...”

“But your heart was fine!” That was unfair. Especially since there was no doubt that Alucard and Dracula would continue to work out their frustrations on each other, making the scent of sex apparent to everyone enhanced enough to smell it.

“They threw a lot of strange words at me, but ultimately what they meant is no fun at all until they tell me the ban is lifted. I wouldn’t care about them, but Alucard and Dracula looked way too serious about all those restrictions that the doctors were rattling off before.”

Eskel leaned in towards Geralt and took a long smell. It had been three days since Eskel had shown up, four since Geralt was injured, and Geralt still had the subtle tang of old potions on him. He shook his head. “You reek of toxicity. You won’t be up for potions to help speed things up. Probably not for a while yet.”

The look Geralt gave him was both eloquent and pathetic.

“They had sex in the bathroom,” Geralt said mournfully. “I couldn’t even watch.”

“I know.” Eskel patted Geralt’s shoulder gently in sympathy, though his mind was dragged back to the feel of Dracula and Alucard holding him and drinking from him. He licked his lips and tried not to get too caught up in it. “At least you’ve got Alucard’s scent around you now. That’s something.”

“There are all these humans around watching them. They barely touch me!” Now there was a definite edge of whine to Geralt’s voice, which was rather unusual. He bitched a regular amount, they all did, but Geralt was seldom _whiney_.

That was when Eskel noticed how Geralt’s hands were shaking where they rested on his stomach. It suddenly occurred to him that Geralt had been awake and relatively active for hours now. First with settling in, and then food, training, and phone lessons. And now with talking. 

He’d been pushing himself, Eskel realized. Trying to keep up and stay awake when he really should be sleeping or meditating. More than that, there was the matter of touch. Geralt was very tactile. _Very_. And for the past few days, he’d been more injured than maybe he ever had been before, and had to watch his lovers keep him at arm's length. The stress of it was likely brutal for him.

Eskel frowned a little. “You’ve been suppressing your pain and exhaustion.”

The slightly guilty look he got in return only confirmed it. 

“I hate being immobile,” Geralt grumbled quietly.

Eskel sighed. “You need to rest. Actual rest, and not just pretending to take it easy while you push yourself to stay awake.” 

Geralt just slumped his shoulders and stared at the blanket in his lap.

Fuck, he was really gonna make Eskel do this. He groaned and rubbed his face.

“You owe me so much booze,” Eskel said sourly, and climbed onto the bed.

“Wait, what?” Geralt turned to him in surprise.

But Eskel was already gently rearranging Geralt and his pillows so he was resting on his back, careful that neither of them got tangled up in the tubes and wires still attached to him. Once Geralt was settled, Eskel scooted in close, cuddling up to him as cautiously as he could. He kept his weight on the bed, laying on his side next to Geralt. Then he threaded his top hand across Geralt’s throat and up to his jaw, so that his palm cradled Geralt’s head.

“Shut up and sleep,” Eskel said, already closing his eyes. He wouldn’t sleep. _Couldn’t_, not with so much anxiety spinning in his head and the ever present worry for Geralt layered over everything. But if he pretended to rest, Geralt would be more inclined to follow suit.

He could feel the tension in Geralt’s body, but after a minute it drained away.

“Thanks,” Geralt said softly.

“So much booze,” Eskel grumbled back. He squeezed Geralt’s neck in reassurance, though, and rubbed his thumb in soothing circles. Geralt leaned into it just a little and let out a breath.

Without anyone to talk to, or even interact with in any way, Geralt was letting himself relax. It only took a couple of minutes more for his heart to slow and his breath to deepen.

Once Eskel was certain Geralt was asleep, he opened his eyes and stared into the dimly lit room. He stayed that way for a long time, thinking about everything Geralt had said and what that meant for the future.

\---


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes from Quarra: Editing is still moving along, so here's another chapter early.

The Silver Fox was a classy kind of pub. John had a whole list of respectable avenues prepared for the myriad of possible outings his boss might want to have. There were tables reserved constantly at most of them, too. The cost was negligible and considering how haphazard his boss’ schedule was, it was the most expedient way of dealing with unexpected requests. Of which there were plenty in the last several days.

He was still feeling somewhat jittery, surprised by the invitation to drinks at all. He and Matt had worked together for many months already, but they were never friendly. John always thought Matt didn't quite like him, preferring to keep company with all the ex-military guys that served as security. He was polite and professional with John, but never friendly.

However, the whole situation right now was forcing changes on them. Trevor Belmont had power, John knew that, but he rarely wielded it outside of the boardroom. This situation with Geralt was the first time John had ever seen Trevor really use his influence for something outside of business dealings. 

He thought he was prepared for that, thought he was ready to help Trevor achieve his goals. John wasn’t prepared for Trevor’s father, or all the things he learned about the Belmont men. It had been days since he’d had a good night's sleep; his mind was too taken by heavy thoughts. He believed Trevor Belmont was a good man, but he would have to be blind and stupid not to have realized that Geralt and Eskel were clearly the products of illegal medical experiments. The latest revelation about their lack of familiarity with technology only deepened his confusion, making him consider things he didn't want to believe were true.

“This place is way fancier than my usual haunts,” Matt’s voice startled John out of his thoughts. He looked up and gave a relieved smile at the sight of the bodyguard.

“They take very seriously to protecting their guests' privacy, and the table is already paid for. Why not use it?”

Matt tilted his head in acknowledgement and took a seat. Within moments, a server came by and got their order, and only a couple minutes after that they were served. John knew from past experience that food would arrive promptly, and then they would be left to their own devices. There was a call button in case they needed additional service; the people here were accustomed to the patrons of these tables lingering over their meals, so they’d learned to accommodate. One of the perks of paying for the VIP treatment. 

After the drinks arrived, they sat in silence for another minute, both of them sipping their drinks. To John’s complete and utter lack of surprise, Matt’s beer was as dark as tar and almost as thick. John himself wasn’t much of a drinker. Mostly, he indulged sparingly for social occasions. This week it felt necessary though, so he’d ordered himself something light. A good flavorful craft beer. Something pleasant to sip on, but wouldn’t get him smashed. Even if he did want to get a little drunk, he knew he had too much work to do to waste the time on it.

He stared into nowhere for a minute, just thinking about all the crazy shit he’d seen and heard in the last four days. 

“So you were right,” Matt said, wincing a little. Maybe from the taste of his drink, because seriously it looked more like a bread product than a liquid. 

“I’m right about a lot of things,” John said with mild amusement. “But what in particular did I get right this time?”

“Er, Geralt and Eskel. They are absolutely monster hunters.”

It took a solid two seconds for those words to sink in. “Wait…_really_?” 

“Oh yeah.” The look Matt gave him was wide eyed and serious. “They told me a bit about it while you and Boss were at the press conference.” 

“Holy shit.” John thought that through. Monster hunters meant that monsters still existed. Although, hell, now they knew that Dracula was still around. _Somewhere_. Still alive. So maybe some additional miscellaneous monsters shouldn’t be much of a surprise. 

It was still a trip.

“Right? After watching Eskel today...” Matt blew out a breath and shook his head. “I believe it. What he was doing with those swords? That was unbelievable.”

Understatement. Eskel looked like a devil swinging those things around. Although some part of John cringed when he saw all the fruit flying. He was going to have to hire a whole team of people just to find all of them, he was sure. 

“I’m also really starting to consider that cult idea,” Matt said, taking another sip.

John grimaced widely. That was a massive point of frustration for him. “Look. If there is a cult, it’s one that there is _no_ information on. Not at all. Not even a little.”

“So you did look into it.” It was a statement, not a question. 

“Of course I did.” John would have been mildly offended, but he knew that Matt had been crazy busy the last week. Logic would hold that John would be too, which was true. He did have a lot to deal with. 

Not so much that he couldn’t look this up, too, though.

“Seriously, though,” John continued, sliding his glass back and forth between his hands absently. “Every place that they’ve mentioned? Kaer Morhen? All those weird ass city names? Witchers in general? Yeah, I got nothing. No mention of any of it anywhere. If it weren’t for the fact that I was there to see Geralt wake up on the surgeon's table, I wouldn’t believe any of it.”

“The eyes are a big hint, too,” Matt said dryly.

“Right? Oh my god.” John shook his head. “First Geralt, and then Trevor.”

He thought about those eyes. John had never seen anything like it. Not even Geralt or Eskel’s odd cat-eyes compared. Trevor’s bright gold irises nestled in their fields of black were incredibly unsettling. 

At first, anyways. Sometime over the last few days John had kind of gotten used to it. He was actually sort of pleased that Trevor trusted them enough to take out his contacts from time to time. But still. What kind of drug or accident of breeding could cause _that_ coloration?

“Still doesn’t hold a candle to his dad.” Matt shook his head. 

“Creepy McCreepydude?” John asked with a shudder. “Yeah, if there was nothing on the witchers, there was an _aggressive_ nothing on him.” 

John had looked, partially because it was his job, but also because he was worried. Very, very worried. The way Trevor just folded to his father’s frankly terrifying possessiveness was beyond disturbing. Nor had John missed the bit of blood on Trevor’s mouth that day in the hospital, and right after Belmont Sr. asked if Trevor had been eating, too. Knowing about the scar on Trevor’s chest, John had to wonder if there was a way to sucker punch someone in the face hard enough to make a lip bleed but not enough to leave much of a bruise. Maybe his lip was cut on the inside on his teeth.

Something deeply fucked up was going on there. 

Then there was the way that Trevor planned around his father. John had never, not once, seen anything like that out of his boss. In the face of corporate rivals and opposition, Trevor made plans, methodically working out the fastest, most effective way to destroy them and take possession of their holdings. When faced with allies, he positioned himself and everything around them to ensure that everyone’s interests were met. Even those he felt responsible for, like his employees or the city as a whole, Trevor created active plans to shift the situation to meet his goals. 

Belmont Sr., on the other hand, Trevor planned _around_. As if his father were a damn hurricane to be avoided or weathered. 

“How can nothing be aggressive?” Matt asked, dragging John’s thoughts back on track.

John sighed and took a drink. “Okay, so. I looked into witchers and Kaer Morhen, and I found nothing. There’s just no information. But when I looked into Creep Master Spooky Eyes, people actively stop talking to me.” He shook his head. “Not, like, all people. A bunch of sources just didn’t have information. No data. But other places? Like contacts in various...well connected organizations? They stopped talking to me. In fact, they requested I never talk to them again. Which sucks.”

Matt tilted his head forward, eyes wide in disbelief. “Wait, really?”

John just nodded and swished around the bottom half of his beer in his glass. Maybe he should have ordered a pitcher. 

“You really surprised? The fucking _cameras_ didn’t even want to film him.”

Not that John really thought that Belmont Sr. had intimidated the cameras into not recording. That would be ridiculous. 

...But he had to admit that he couldn’t really discount it entirely. It had been a really weird week.

“Fuck,” Matt said under his breath, and took another drink. 

A server wandered up and dropped off several plates of finger food as well as glasses of water and refills on their beers.

They both picked at the food a little. It wasn’t bad. Places like this could turn even pub food into a five star meal, and it showed.

“Do you think he’s the cult leader?” John asked.

“I mean, it’s likely.” Matt leveled him with a stern look. “You, by the way, need to watch out for Iga.”

“Oh my god,” John muttered, his cheeks burning. “She can’t really be serious, right? I’m not the guy women like that hit on. Not that I think I’m hideous by any standards, but she’d definitely an eleven? And I’m more of a five? It’s crazy obvious that the only reason a woman like that wants to sleep with me is for shady purposes.”

It had happened before. Or rather, it had been attempted before. John had no delusions about his male prowess, and was a workaholic to boot. He was a good guy, sure, and he’d treat a lady right. But a sex god, he was not. 

“Geralt put her up to it,” Matt said matter of factly.

“What?!” John had no idea why, but a little sting of betrayal went through him.

“Yeah, he thought you looked stressed. But that’s not the important part here.” Matt dismissed the idea with a wave. “The important part here is you need to know that Iga is a slave. Probably a sex slave, given how she looks and tries to sleep with everyone.”

John’s jaw dropped open. “Oh my god.” 

Every time he thought things were weird enough, they just kept getting worse.

“Yeah.” Matt looked grim. “Belmont Sr. owns her. She said so herself. And she was someone else’s slave before he,” Matt brought up his hand to make air quotes, “‘took over’.” 

John thought about how Trevor had given her orders along with the rest of them, right before he left. Then he thought of the possessive way that Belmont Sr. ran his hands all over Trevor, Eskel, and Geralt. “Holy shit, are they all slaves?”

“I think so. Although, I am seriously thinking that Geralt and Eskel are both, uh.” Matt made a confused face for a moment. “Kept men? Concubines, maybe? Whatever. I’m fairly sure they’re both fucking Belmont Senior.” 

John snickered at the thought of the scarred, muscle bound witchers wearing stereotypical harem costumes. “Wow.”

“Right.” Matt grabbed a piece of fried cheese and wolfed it down. 

“There is no way the boss is okay with that.” Impossible. No way a kind, generous man like Trevor Belmont would be alright with human slavery in any form.

“Man, I do not think he has a choice.” 

And that was the sad damn truth. Whatever Belmont Sr. was involved in, there wasn’t a single thing any of them could do about it. 

Given the futility of that line of thought, John jumped back subjects. “Do you think Iga was owned by the same people who trained and raised the witchers?”

“I don’t think so,” Matt said in between bites. Now that he was started on eating, the food was disappearing at a surprising rate. After catching sight of John’s look, he said, “Hey, look. Those three _demolished_ every scrap of food that came up there. This is the first I’ve eaten since breakfast.”

John raised his hands in surrender. “Eat if you need, there’s lots. So, not the same cult? Group? Whatever?”

“Look. Belmont Sr. has got to be some kind of a crime lord. The way people follow his orders? The fact that he has goddamn _killers_ and sex slaves on staff?” Matt shoved a bit of bread with melted cheese on it into his mouth. He shook his head as he chewed. “Then let’s talk about that knife he gave Geralt. That thing wasn’t picked up by x-rays. Not at all. I have no idea how that is even possible, and I saw it right there. Who keeps untraceable weapons? What the hell else does he even have on him? No, the guy has got to be some kind of kingpin.”

“Cult leaders can be crime lords, too. And often are, if my research shows anything.” John started nibbling at some of the deep fried broccoli. Might as well get in something to eat. There wouldn’t be any time to cook later. The dipping sauce was pretty good, actually, and it went well with the taste of beer. 

“I kind of assume that he is doing both, but I think whatever cult Geralt and Eskel were raised in was a different one. After all, both Trevor and Belmont Sr. seemed surprised at what Eskel said about their childhoods.”

A terrible thought occured to John. It might make sense though. “Do you think the church had anything to do with it?”

“I don’t even know. God, I hope not. If only because I don’t really want to think about the church kidnapping children.” Matt drained his glass and then took a sip of his water. 

It made an awful kind of sense, though. They were all child soldiers. They all had weird eyes, though clearly the Belmonts had a different type than the witchers. They were all trained to fight and kill. Belmont Sr. clearly hated the church with a passion, though Geralt and Eskel seemed a little more…brainwashed.

John stared off into nowhere, thinking about their little technology lesson earlier. They were all so smart, picking up proficiency with the tablets at a frighteningly fast rate. But at the same time, they all had obviously never seen anything like it. That meant that these people were deliberately kept in the dark about the modern world. 

Sheltered. Trevor had said Geralt and Eskel were sheltered. That was putting it pretty fucking lightly. 

“Do you think Trevor will be pissed at us for teaching them how to use tech?” John asked. It seemed unlikely. Prior to this week, John would have put the possibility at zero. But after everything he’d learned, everything that had happened, he couldn’t discount it.

“No,” Matt said after a long moment. “But I’m not sure about Belmont Senior.” He ran his tongue over his teeth. “I still think we should do it, though. Just in case they are all…owned. It might help them in the future.”

“If they ever try to get out,” John finished for him.

“Yeah.”

Grim silence settled over the table for a moment as they both considered that possibility. It was nothing but the stark truth that they couldn’t do a damn thing for Iga, Eskel, and Geralt. If even Trevor wasn’t willing to get involved, what could just John and Matt do?

This. They could do this. Anything that would give the three of them an edge against their owner.

John nodded, and swallowed hard. “Yeah, I’m gonna start compiling some additional information for them. Stuff I can slip into the lessons. They’re all, I donno, hungry for information. I think they’ll be interested even if it is a little out of scope.” 

“Good man,” Matt said quietly.

Another couple of minutes of silence went by as they both steadily munched on the platters in front of them. 

“Is it just me, or is Belmont Sr. weirdly touchy-feely?” John asked.

“It is not just you,” Matt said grimly. “Though he only does it to Trevor, Geralt, and Eskel. Everyone else he seems to avoid touching.”

Shivers clawed up John’s spine. “The hand on the neck all the time.”

“Right? Or the face.” Matt bunched up his shoulders and winced, clearly unsettled. “I bet you lunch that if Geralt were less injured, Belmont Sr. would be all over him, too.”

“No bet. He totally would be.” John frowned for a moment and thought about it. “Though Geralt is really, _very_ sad that sex is off the table for a while. So I’m not sure he’d really be against Belmont Sr. touching him.”

“Unless that’s what he thinks is expected of him,” Matt said glumly. “If he’s been conditioned that way…”

If anything, that only made the shivers worse. John looked at him in horror. “Oh god. Why are you filled with nightmare fuel?” 

“Gotta know about a threat to avoid it.” Matt shrugged. “Besides, I have seen some weird shit in my tours of duty.”

“Weirder than this week?”

That earned John a wide eyed stare. “Not even close,” Matt said seriously.

Which was just great.

John sighed. “How can he even think about sex when he’s still stapled together?”

“Man, you have not come close to hearing the horrors I have.” Matt took a long drink. “They talk details. Lots and lots of details. And ask about it. And watch softcore vampire porn.”

“Iga was watching hardcore porn this evening on her tablet.” 

Fuck, John was going to have to deal with her browsing history later. It honestly hadn’t occurred to him to restrict her device to safe for work sites, and by now it was too late. She knew she could get access, so she no doubt would want that access to stay. And aside from general personal discomfort there wasn’t any good reason to deny her. Even viruses weren’t really an issue. There wasn’t anything worth stealing on her tablet and even if it died it could be effortlessly replaced. 

Maybe he would just burn the thing when she was done with it. Or, better yet, give it to her as a going away gift. Say it was from Trevor, that way John wouldn’t have to deal with her thinking he was flirting. Especially when all he really wanted to do was avoid seeing just how many orgy videos she could download onto her machine before she ran out of storage space. 

_Oh god._ John was suddenly struck with the paralyzing fear that Iga would figure out the tablet’s camera function and become a cam girl in her free time. Maybe he should go disable some functions. For security reasons. And maybe also sanity reasons. The last thing they all needed was an amateur video of Iga and Dr. Miller on Pornhub.

“On the bright side, both Geralt and Eskel seem to treat her with respect, even though Eskel already admitted to sleeping with her,” Matt said. He leaned back in his chair and sipped his beer.

“Oh, really?” John was sort of curious, but not super shocked. Iga seemed like she got around.

“Interestingly enough, Geralt is apparently ‘forbidden’ to partake of her offerings. They were both pretty clear that she wouldn’t touch him and he admitted to being ‘taken’.”

“He’s got to be fucking Belmont Sr.,” John said. “That would make sense, right? Or maybe someone else high up in the cult. Do you think Belmont Sr. has a second in command?”

“Yeah,” Matt said. “But so is Eskel, I think, and he is not under the same restrictions.” Matt paused. “I think there must be some kind of lieutenant. If his organization is as big as we think it is. I just don’t really want to think who it is, you know?”

John nodded glumly. From the way Trevor seemed to know what was going on with his father, it seemed possible that he was more than just a treasured son. He could be involved, too. Iga had come to him for help, after all, saying his father needed him. 

Until faced with evidence, John didn’t want to think of the possibility that Trevor might be just as involved with slavery and murder as his father. Nothing in his bearing implied that, after all, and he’d shown so much generosity and concern for people he’d never met. It was also true that they’d never even heard of Belmont Senior. Based on that, it was equally likely that they wouldn’t have heard of his second in command, either. 

John was willing to give Trevor the benefit of the doubt. Maybe it was like Matt said, and whatever Trevor did, was because he didn’t have a choice about it? It’s not like people get to choose their parents.

“The hell are we gonna do with them for the next...however long it takes for Trevor to get back?” John asked.

“There are tech lessons. Which, thank you, by the way.” Matt toasted John. “Hopefully that will keep them occupied. At least for a little while.”

“There’s always training,” John said, thinking of Eskel swinging around those massive fucking swords. 

But Matt winced. “Yeah, Eskel’s said he wants to do some sparring with me. And earlier this week I was feeling a hell of a lot better about that. But now?” He gave a wide eyed look to John. “Did you see how fast he was moving? I’m good. Really. One of the best in my field, and I stay in shape and in practice. But that guy is gonna kick my ass.”

“Movies?” John asked. “They liked the Alucard movies. Maybe we should feel out their opinions on other sci-fi horror stuff?”

“John,” Matt said seriously. “Have you actually seen the latest Alucard movie?”

“...No?” Truthfully, John didn’t have a lot of time for movies. When he did get around to watching TV, it was usually just some reruns on television. 

“Remember that softcore porn I mentioned?” Matt drawled before biting into a crunchy fried chicken leg.

“Yes?” John grabbed a nacho chip and nibbled on it. Then went for more. This was junk food, sure, but it was comfort food, too. Right now he thought he could use it. It would be hard enough to keep weight on with all the stress anyways.

Matt continued eating his chicken, staring at John from over it and waiting for the dots to connect.

_Softcore vampire porn._

“No.” John dropped the chip he was holding. “That thing we walked in on after the press conference? I didn’t really get a good look at it.”

“Uh huh. They’ve watched it over and over and over again. The first time wasn’t even that bad. Now that they know all the scenes, they have commentary. Very graphic commentary.”

“Oh god.” John closed his eyes, briefly grateful that he spent most of his time in meetings. 

“Yeah. Whatever you’re thinking of? Go worse. Because Geralt isn’t the only one obsessed with sex. Eskel is just as damn bad. He’s just less aggressive about it.”

“It’s like watching toddlers,” John muttered. “With the skills of a ninja and the sex drive of a porn star. I’m kind of tempted just to hire them strippers and call it a day, but Geralt can’t take the pressure on his heart. He took too much damage. If it gets too high, there’s risk of rupture or clotting or…” He shrugged. “There are a lot of problems. Mainly because he’s a damn pincushion.”

Matt just shook his head. “Maybe a shopping spree? Iga and Eskel both need clothes. So does Geralt, though he won’t need them for a while.”

“I ordered stuff for them, but having them choose what they want might distract them for a while.” John started to mentally tally all the online stores he would show them; most of the bespoke tailors he knew at least had a showcase on their website. That would be enough for them to pick out styles that everyone liked and then get items made to their measurements. 

Though the thought of the measuring process gave him a bit of a fright. Between Iga’s tendency to wear very little and ignore such things as underwear and Eskel’s scarring, he wasn’t sure how any tailor would deal with them.

They polished off the last of the food in silence.

“When do you think Trevor will be back?” John asked quietly.

Matt went tight lipped. Then he shrugged and finished off his beer. 

John sighed and grabbed his phone. He had plans to make.

He never knew when his boss would disappear or when he would be back. It made for challenging work at times, but it also meant he got a lot of decision power. Even though he was an assistant, a lot of people in charge had learned to respect his opinions. He was used to running with company matters and keeping things flowing smoothly in Trevor’s absence. 

Recent events had put John in place to deal with some things out of the norm for him. Trevor had really thrown his influence around with this incident, and outside of normal business realms, too. He’d also opened himself up to character debate with the new information released about his past and private life. That brought up a whole host of new problems for John to deal with. It made him wish even more for his boss’ return. Preferably alone, without his father in tow.

“I’ll plan activities for tomorrow,” John said. “Keep me updated on how it’s going, and I can try to send you help as you need.”

“Let’s hope we don’t need it.”

They both looked at each other and snorted in laughter.

Fat chance of that.

\---

In the end, John had to take on seperate tailors for Iga and Eskel. Their clothing choices were too different. Geralt was still not well enough to be out of bed; he was still connected to too many tubes to be eligible for measuring. So John focused on Eskel and Iga. 

Eskel’s measuring went smoothly. Well, better than John expected anyways. His tailor was Trevor’s regular one and he was at least familiar with dealing with muscular guys, though the amount of scarring did make him hesitate at first. 

Still, Eskel was remarkably relaxed for the whole event. He didn’t react to being told to assume certain positions and ignored the tailor touching him to get the measurements. That was what John and Matt were most afraid of, that Eskel would treat the close contact as a threat.

At some point, Eskel must have caught their slightly relieved looks. He smirked ruefully at them, and shook his head. “This is a cakewalk compared to when Trevor’s father got me outfitted last summer. Because of course he was there to make commentary.”

Geralt just snorted at him. 

“We all heard the stories of Eskel getting a sugar daddy!” he called from the bed. “The whole market at Ard Carraigh is still buzzing about it.”

Eskel turned bright red and grimaced. “I don’t want to hear it. He was your damn sugar daddy first, and half the shit he made me try on was for you to wear later!”

John shared a look with Matt, feeling like all their speculations had just been confirmed.

“At least that’s what he told you,” Geralt said with a smile that showed an alarming number of teeth.

“Gods, you are _both_ assholes,” Eskel grumbled. “All I wanted was armor! And swords!”

“And you got them.” Geralt smirked. “Gabriel got an evening of fun, too. Everybody got what they wanted.”

Eskel pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered something that made Geralt bark out in laughter.

“I do like the way he thinks,” Geralt admitted eventually. “Though his ideas of ‘help’ are somewhat…unique most of the time.”

“Help. Yes. He does like to _help_.” Eskel sounded so incredibly grumpy. 

“You like it,” Geralt said, still sporting a shit eating grin.

“Now you really do sound like him,” Eskel shot back dryly.

That just made Geralt laugh again. 

“I swear, you all are just a bunch of gossiping old aunties.” Eskel shook his head and held up his arms for the tailor.

“I have said nothing,” Iga said with a smile, raising her hands in innocent surrender. 

John had been a little surprised that they all wanted to stay in the same room while measurements were taken. Though maybe he shouldn’t have been. They were obviously all close, and weren’t at all self-conscious. Plus, Eskel was taking Geralt’s safety very seriously. He seemed to be even more paranoid than Matt, and that was really saying something.

“Oh, please. Like we all don’t know that you and the others sit around and compare notes.” The look Eskel gave her was both knowing and amused.

She rolled her eyes. “If Vesemir would just give in and put out, we wouldn’t have to wait around in his room every morning.” Both Geralt and Eskel laughed. “Although, it looks like the Steward has taken an interest.” She waggled her eyebrows at them and tapped her nose.

“Seriously? Wow, I thought he’d never fold,” Geralt said.

“I’ll believe it when I smell it,” Eskel said, shaking his head. 

The tailor stood up, thanked Eskel for his patience, and started to pack up his stuff. After a sigh of relief, Eskel took Iga’s spot next to the bed. He’d insisted that one of them be free to guard Geralt at any given time. If Matt was annoyed by that, he kept it under wraps, and the tailors were too well paid to show irritation with the wait.

“I will have a few items for casual wear ready by tomorrow morning, the rest will be delivered throughout the week. For the suits, I will need another fitting to make alterations for any weapons sir chooses to wear.”

“Thank you,” Eskel said. “You’ve been very courteous. I look forward to the next fitting.” 

The tailor, an older man who Trevor had worked with several times in the past, just smiled broadly and nodded at him. There was a note of real appreciation in the man’s face, too. “The pleasure was mine.” 

Eskel caught the raised eyebrow that Geralt gave him. “What? Unlike you, I have manners.”

Geralt just snickered. “Manners aren’t what witchers are for. Besides, who was it who showed up to King Foltest’s court completely smashed?”

“Both of us, if you’ll remember. And at least we weren’t high as a kite like Dandelion.”

John just stared at them and tried not to facepalm. So they were like this everywhere they went. 

How did Trevor ever get involved with these people?

Iga walked over to the space cleared for the fitting and asked, “My turn?”

The other tailor, a younger designer who had become a sensation in the last year, was already waiting. His creations were colorful and interesting, catching Iga’s eye above all the others that John had showed her. He’d tried steering her towards the more conservative designers, but she wanted the showy, flashy clothes and nothing he said could convince her.

“Please stand here,” the man said with a wave. 

As she moved closer, Iga pulled off her dress with a single fluid motion, and tossed it onto the bed. Underneath she was absolutely, gloriously nude.

_Oh my god,_ John thought frantically, immediately dropping his gaze. Burning heat flooded his face and he was sure he must be bright red.

“Make sure the clothes fit well,” she said, pushing her chest out, her unbelievably perky breasts leading the way.

Desperate to look anywhere but at her displayed bosom, John took in the reactions from the rest of the room. Geralt and Eskel watched with a mix of amusement and appreciation, yet both seemed oddly unaffected at the same time. They sported what looked like kind smiles, and there wasn’t even a hint of a blush on their faces. Aside from a hint of pinkness at the cheeks, Matt looked pretty nonchalant, too. The older tailor, Eskel’s designer, was utterly uninterested, not even sparing her more than a bored glance. 

Iga’s designer, though, had on a smirk that set John’s internal alarms off. It was more than just appreciative. There was also a hint of something else there that John couldn’t quite put his finger on. For some reason, he was reminded of a used car salesman, though he had no idea why.

As a rule, John didn’t like working with people who got famous or rich in a short period of time. Especially with things like fashion or entertainment. He was sadly met with a distinctive lack of class. Since his boss was an extremely elegant and collected person, a true gentleman, he extrapolated that Trevor wouldn’t like working with people who didn’t share his sensibilities.

So far, that assumption had served John well. Both Trevor and the designers he’d ended up working with left their arrangements satisfied. 

This guy, though. He was new, and that look on his face was making John consider investing in some unknown designers instead. Iga would get her dresses, but if she needed more, John would assign an agent to more thoroughly vet the candidates.

Everything started as expected. The designer began with Iga’s arms and shoulders. Things got dicey when he had to measure her bust. He kept fumbling with the tape, his fingers working uncomfortably close to her nipples. 

John didn’t keep too close an eye on it, feeling too uncomfortable to keep watching Iga’s naked form for long. He was also feeling very hot under his collar. Thank god he was too uncomfortable to get hard. He’d not forgotten how Eskel had said that they could smell people’s interest, and the sheer embarrassment of that was keeping his libido in line.

It was the slight frown on Iga’s face that caught his attention next, as he was doing his best not to look anywhere below her eyes. From the corner of his eye he saw Matt straighten suddenly and move forward. At the same time, Iga _growled_.

She moved so fast that John didn’t even understand what was happening at first. She had her fingers clenched around the man’s neck, and was squeezing hard enough that his skin went all white and bloodless around her grip.

“What did you think you were doing just now?” she hissed, squeezing even harder. 

The muscles in her arm tightened and the man’s eyes all but popped out of his head. Little, weak noises bubbled out of him, but he clearly couldn’t get enough breath to make more sound than that. His lips were already going blue and bloodless. He tried to wrap his hands around Iga’s arm, but she caught his right hand and pulled it away like it was child's play.

“You dare touch me with this filthy hand?” she hissed again, and then twisted sharply. 

The sound of breaking bone was shockingly loud in the room. The man squealed and his knees gave out. He was now literally hanging from her grip. She looked enraged, incandescent with it. 

“I will keep breaking it,” she hissed, “and then I will start in on the other one.”

“Iga,” Matt said firmly. He stepped forward slowly with his arms out, as if heading out to defuse a bomb. “Let him go. My men and I will take care of him.”

“This pathetic piece of shit thought he had a right to touch me!” she snarled. “To try and _take_ what I had not offered. A slimy little pissant like this should be happy I haven’t gutted him. Yet.”

“Iga,” Matt said again. “You are killing him.” He sounded remarkably calm.

“Yes?” she said, as if that was exactly what she was aiming for.

John looked to Eskel and Geralt for help, but they merely watched without showing any empathy or concern towards the designer. Eventually Eskel sighed.

“No killing Trevor’s people, Iga,” Eskel said from his seat. He sounded almost bored. Hell, he hadn’t even moved out of his slouch. “We’re not supposed to break his tower or his people. As much as this fucking moron deserves it.”

Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit. John did not think that Trevor was being _serious_ when he told them that. 

“Well,” Geralt said. “This guys isn’t exactly Trevor’s, is he? And besides, if one starts it with her kind, one has to learn the consequences.”

“No,” Eskel said, getting to his feet. “Iga.” He turned towards her. “Let him go.”

Iga hissed again, but released the tailor from her grip. He dropped like a rock, and curled in over his broken arm, gasping.

For a moment it looked like she would curb stomp him, but instead she turned and stalked over to where Eskel stood.

“You witchers and your mission to protect the humans,” she growled. She brushed past Eskel, her shoulder bumping into him hard along the way. Eskel said nothing. He only picked up her discarded dress and tossed it at her.

She snatched it out of the air with a sneer, quickly slipped it on, and then dropped into the chair next to the bed with a glare.

“Don’t be so hard on him,” Geralt soothed. “He waited ‘til after you had a little fun, after all.”

John was aware of Matt talking quietly in the background, organizing transport to the hospital.

“I’m going to call the police,” the man whimpered once Iga was safely away from him.

“No, you won’t,” Matt said calmly, kneeling down next to the tailor. “You will get the best medical service that can be bought, and you are going to be very grateful for it.”

“What?” he gasped. “There are witnesses!” He looked to John, and then to the older tailor that hadn’t yet left.

John shook his head. “I didn’t see anything. Just came into the room.”

The man looked to the older designer, who just studiously avoided looking at him.

Eskel walked over to where the younger tailor lay squirming in pain and looked him over. There was an absolute apathy to the gaze that set John’s skin crawling.

“Fisk!” the tailor hissed towards the older man.

“I’m afraid I was out of the room, too,” the old tailor said.

Eskel crouched down next to the man, and tilted up his chin to look at the bruising along the neck there. “Not bad. Iga, you are talented.” 

The tailor jerked his head away, wide eyed and almost heaving with how heavy he was breathing. Eskel just ignored him though, instead he shifted his gaze to the broken arm. Before the tailor could worm away, Eskel grabbed ahold of it, fast as a snake.

“No, no, no,” the tailor whispered. He’d started crying again. Nausea rolled in John’s stomach.

“Eskel…” Matt said, taking his attention away from his phone for a moment.

“It’s a very clean break,” Eskel said evenly. “I can set it now.” 

He looked through his eyelashes up to Matt. The way he sat, crouched over the injured, crying man, the way his eyes shone in that moment, and the utter nonchalance of his words made him look terrifying. He was calm and focused and cold as marble. 

“We should let the paramedics do that,” Matt said evenly.

“Hmmm.” Eskel let his gaze roam back to the tailor. “This is a learning moment for you, isn’t it?”

“Fuck you!”

“Don’t scream,” Eskel said mildly and reached his other hand for the broken arm.

John felt queasy, the contents of his stomach inching up his throat as he watched the tailor’s face become wax paper white when Eskel twisted his arm. The man did not scream, but that was only because he choked on it and squealed in terror instead.

“All set,” Eskel said just as mildly as before, with no sign of tension, empathy or even anger in his voice. He was absolutely unaffected by the violence that just took place or the terror he was raining down on the man.

“Eskel.” Matt inched a little closer, putting a protective hand on the tailor. “Please let me and my people handle this.”

“This one is lucky he didn’t take such liberties with Trevor. Or with Geralt or I while either of the Belmonts were here,” Eskel said mildly. He tilted his head to the side and looked at Matt curiously. “He should take this lesson to heart and understand how incredibly lightly he’s gotten off.”

“I’m sure he knows.” Matt was calm as could be. Which was great, because John was one more snapping sound away from crawling into a corner and having a nice breakdown. 

“Good.” Eskel looked down to the tailor, who by now had given up on doing anything but crying. He leaned in and took a good long sniff. _Catching his scent_, John realized in horror. “You need help carrying him out?”

“No, but thank you.”

Eskel shrugged and walked back over to the bed, taking a seat on its edge.

After that, a couple of the security guards hustled in with a pair of paramedics. They quickly got the man onto a stretcher.

One of them looked to Matt and asked, “What happened?”

“He slipped,” Matt said without much of inflection. He looked remarkably like Eskel in that he didn’t seem affected at all.

John suddenly realized he had a job to do, too. In a heartbeat, he was contacting legal, having them prepare funds for medical expenses as well as additional NDAs. Both tailors had to sign several just to get in the door, but this situation would require a little extra something. Just in case, he also requested them draw up a sexual assault lawsuit. If this designer wanted to play nice, they would pay for his bills and the cost of lost revenue from his recovery time. If not, a case probably could be made for self defense.

Though he had to admit, if only to himself, that retaliation for a sexual assault wasn’t usually so draconian.

Bribery was something that John had experience with in this job, but usually it was bribing otherwise corrupt individuals to accomplish something for the greater good. It left a bad taste in his mouth to consider using that influence to cover up an assault. Truthfully, though, he didn’t think it would come to that. The designer would take the path of least resistance and most profit and not just because of the money. If Trevor Belmont publicly blacklisted the man, that would be massively damaging to his career.

The way Eskel smelled him stuck out in John’s mind, too. He couldn’t help but wonder if Eskel could track the man down later by it, or if it was just an intimidation tactic. A terrifying vision floated through John’s head of Eskel skulking through the city at night only to ferret the man out and murder him in his sleep.

Just in case, he set up a reminder to check on the man’s health in a few days. Not that he could do anything about it if Eskel had taken deadly offence, but it would be nice to know.

While John had been frantically setting plans into place, Matt had gotten the injured tailor out, as well as the rest of the security and paramedic team. Silence fell over the room afterwards, and John noticed that the older tailor had stuck around.

Fisk. His name was Sean Fisk.

“You know, my niece just finished up design school,” Fisk said offhandedly, still straightening things in his tailoring trunk. “She’s young, but her designs are very provocative. Racy, I’d say, but the line work is inspired. If you have interest, I could contact her. If not, it is no problem. I have always enjoyed the work I do for Mr. Belmont and I look forward to continuing that relationship.” 

He raised an eyebrow to Iga. She straightened a little out of her slouch, looking intrigued. “Do you have examples of her work?”

Fisk beamed at her. “On my phone. I was at her senior runway show. May I join you to show you?”

Iga perked up even more. “Please.”

He walked over and passed her the phone, screen already showing colorful pictures. Iga flipped through them, sometimes coming back to look at one more closely before moving on again.

“Yes,” she said with a smile. “I like those. Girl has spirit.”

Fisk smiled warmly at her and reclaimed his phone. His gaze flickered to John, who nodded. “I’ll call her as soon as I leave here. She’s in town, so I’m reasonably sure she will be available for a consultation within the next day or so.”

John sighed with relief. One less thing for him to worry about. “Let me get her information before you leave, as well.”

“Of course,” Fisk said with a nod. Then he turned to Iga again. “I’m terribly sorry for that cad’s wandering hands. People like that give us all a bad name.”

“Thank you,” she said with a warm smile. To John’s vast surprise, she didn’t seem flirtatious at all. Just courteous.

With that, Fisk gathered up his trunk and exchanged contact information with John. Then he was on his way out.

The whole room sighed in relief when the door shut behind him.

“Well, that was exciting,” Geralt said into the silence.

“I might get some nice dresses out of it,” Iga murmured, stretching out her legs in front of her. Damn she was hot. Just so very hot. And dangerous apparently. John still couldn't quite get over how ruthlessly and easily she broke that guy’s arm. 

“All your kind cares about is the bling,” Eskel said, going to the other side of the room and getting another chair. He brought it over to the bed, setting it up on the opposite side of the bed from where Iga sat. John wondered if he was angry at her.

Iga snorted.

“And you don’t, Mr. 'I will kill any beastie for gold'?”

“Children,” Geralt chided gently. “Let’s not make more of a show than we have to?”

Both of them gave Geralt a look of dry amusement. 

“You’re starting to sound like Vesemir,” Eskel said.

“Gods forbid.” Geralt laughed. 

“You stop putting out like him and your lovers will be most displeased,” Iga said, half amused, half sour.

_Lovers?_ John blinked in startlement. The conversation he heard before indicated Geralt was in a committed relationship. This was the first time John heard it was something other than just one lover, whom he expected to be Belmont Sr., and he couldn’t imagine that man sharing a lover with _anybody_.

“That’s when you know I’m dead,” Geralt said seriously.

“Somebody want to tell me what just happened?” Matt asked. he closed the door carefully behind him and stood in front of it as if he was making sure nobody could escape.

“You were here, weren’t you?” Eskel grumbled from his spot across from Iga. The two kept looking at each other over Geralt’s bed. Geralt had to keep turning his head to look at one or the other. It looked exhausting. John always hated to have speakers on both sides of him.

“I was, and yet I am still confused.” Matt raised an eyebrow at them, glancing between Iga and Eskel. 

Geralt snorted. “You only engage her kind if you know you can win. This guy got off easy, believe me.” 

Iga looked at her nails, not even trying to look innocent as a smirk pulled at the corners of her full lips.

“Her kind? And what is _her kind_ that nets someone a possible killing because he touched when he should have only looked?” Matt asked with just a slight edge to his voice, an obvious sign of his frustration leaking through.

Geralt, Eskel, and Iga all shared a glance. It looked like this was another one of those things they were gonna try to dance around. John held back a sigh. It wouldn’t be so bad if the witchers were any good at talking in circles. The truth was, they both _sucked_ at it. What they weren’t allowed to say practically tried to break out from behind their teeth.

“That fool thought he knew what he was dealing with,” Eskel said, sounding rather tired suddenly. “None of us fit into what the people here expect, and he should have seen the obvious warning signs and acted accordingly.”

“For fuck's sake, one look at me and Eskel should have told him that he needed to be on his toes,” Geralt grumbled. “Trevor’s obvious wealth alone should have reminded him to keep his hands to himself.”

“That’s not an answer,” Matt said.

“That’s the best answer you will get,” Geralt said with finality in his voice. “Iga is no danger to any of Trevor’s people. That guy didn’t belong to Trevor, though.”

Matt gritted his teeth. After a beat, he nodded, and then wandered over to take his seat along the wall. Once he sat down, he sighed and let out a breath. “If I told you all not to kill anyone, Belmont’s people or not, would you listen?”

Privately, John also had to wonder about the attachment to the concept of ownership. _Trevor’s people._ As if only what belonged to him had value, and everyone else was irrelevant. It reminded him of feudal times, with lords and vassals. John thought of Geralt’s swords and Eskel’s armor, and had to wonder.

“No,” Eskel said simply. “I have my orders already and if I have to kill somebody, or a few dozen somebodies to get it done, I will.”

For a brief moment, stark cold terror shivered down John’s spine. He knew without a doubt that Eskel was serious. More than that, he knew Eskel was dangerous enough to make it happen. Easily. 

Then his brain kicked in and John contacted the legal team. There were already contingencies drawn up in case Matt or any of his people had to kill to protect Trevor. Might as well get those safety nets expanded a bit. That included notifying them of a more present threat to Trevor and his...retinue. 

Matt just pursed his lips. “Good to know.”

After a moment of silence, Geralt piped up. “Don’t worry so much. The chances of someth---”

“_Don’t._ Say it,” Eskel said sharply. “Gods know you breathe trouble.”

“...Does this happen often for you?” John asked quietly, glancing between Geralt and Eskel.

“No,” said Geralt but he was drowned by both Iga and Eskel chorusing, “Yes.”

Something of his internal freakout must have shown on his face, because Matt nudged a chair in his direction. Yes, sitting down seemed like a good option.

Trevor hadn’t even been gone twenty-four hours. If this was what the first day was like, how was the rest of the week going to go?

\---

Matt was stressed.

More than that, Matt was also confused and flustered, struggling to keep to his professionalism.

At first, having Iga around didn’t seem to be much of a problem. She was beautiful and provocative and made it no secret that she was also available for a quick romp in the hay, but Matt’s people seemed well equipped to ignore her presence. 

Matt hadn’t taken into account the medical staff.

On the second day after Trevor left, a rumor started circulating among his people that Iga had a fling with somebody in the supply room on the floor below the private ones.

Given Iga’s flirtatious behavior, rumors were bound to start up. Matt tried not to put much stock in them. But he saw how Geralt and Eskel talked with her, how casually they all acknowledged that she’d be doing her best to screw as many people as she could while here. 

So on the third day after Trevor had left to go help his father, Matt found himself in need of a visit to the supply closet and he couldn’t quite make himself go in. Not without knocking first.

It was stupid. This whole thing was stupid. There was no way Iga had dragged one of the medical staff into the damn closet. 

But yet. 

He sighed, and tried to rub away the tension headache building in his temple. Feeling like a goddamn idiot, he knocked on the supply room door.

And was stunned to hear a muffled squeak come out from inside. This was quickly followed by a, “Just a minute!”

That was definitely a woman’s voice. Not Iga, either. 

Two long, embarrassing minutes later, one of the nurses slipped out of the room, adjusting her scrubs. Her face was bright red, and her hair looked like it had been hastily drawn back into a ponytail. Matt just looked at her, eyebrows high up on his forehead.

She avoided his eyes and rushed away, disappearing behind the corner within seconds.

“All yours,” the second voice _did_ belong to Iga. She came out of the closet after the nurse, her hair loose and a little messy. She was gently flushed, but not from embarrassment. As he watched, she checked that her dress was in order while she stepped out of the closet. “I hope you are having a good morning,” she purred, looking like the cat that got the canary already.

“Probably not as good as hers,” he muttered, his eyes still feeling kind of wide.

Iga smiled, slow and wicked.

“I can help with that,” she offered.

He blinked and tried not to think about how Iga’s lips looked wet and inviting. “Thank you, but no.”

She put her finger against her lips. “Hmm, at least not all of your guards are so resistant to having a little fun.”

She patted his shoulder gently.

“I’m having a good time during this stay.”

Annoyance flickered through him. Matt had expressly forbidden his team from getting involved with Iga, but apparently someone couldn’t quite resist. It would be pointless to bust Iga’s chops for it; that would be ineffective as well as alienating. 

“They are off duty while you are having fun, I hope?” he asked instead. That was part of Trevor’s parting orders, after all. Matt was sure he could get her to agree to that at least.

“Of course,” she said easily. “I would never go against orders like that.”

He nodded. “Thank you. Please let me know if any of them treat you poorly.” The last thing he needed was another incident like with the tailor. 

She smiled at him. The expression was surprisingly honest, the wicked edge to it softening.

“You chose good men.”

“Thank you.”

With that, Iga wandered off down the hall, looking over her shoulder at him while she walked. 

Matt took a moment to count backwards from ten before going into the supply room.

This week was going to kill him.

\---

John was going insane. 

On top of all of his regular duties for Trevor, which were a lot of work by anyone’s standards, he also had spent the last few days scrambling to keep Geralt and Eskel entertained. 

To his vast relief, they at least seemed to ask about things before they did them. But each damn question only made his blood pressure go up. Since they’d learned how to text, even leaving the private floors of the tower didn’t make him safe.

_John, is there a store of extra rope in this building?_

He found out later that the reason that Eskel asked was because he was wondering if the side of the tower could be rappelled from. John didn’t know the answer to that, so he’d asked the only person who was liable to know about such an improbable scenario. Matt. The fact that Matt texted him back with not only the confirmation of supplies in stock, but also a quick list of needed equipment, including the goddamn brand names and catalog numbers, was as disturbing as Eskel’s question.

_John. Matt said that Trevor is fairly famous and thus likely knew other famous people. Does he know the man who played Alucard in the movies?_

Yes, Trevor knew many famous people, but no, he did not socialize often with them. Or at all, really. Not to mention the fact that the idea of introducing Geralt and Eskel to _anyone_ gave John hives. 

He was able to dissuade them from attempting to contact the actor in question, but that started them on creating plans to entertain Trevor once he was back. They seemed annoyed that he didn’t have much of a life outside of work. While John privately agreed with them, he was more than a little terrified of their plans. 

Some were normal enough. Theater and movie trips. Eating out, though when they mentioned that they both snickered to themselves like teenagers getting away with a prank. 

Then there was the idea of chasing down the last of the Infected. That one made both John and Matt blanch. 

“How big can they get?” Geralt asked.

“There were reported sightings of creatures up to two stories tall,” Matt replied. When both Eskel and Geralt lit up with glee, he hastened to add, “But there haven’t been signs of any that large in months and months.”

They slumped a little in disappointment, and John sighed with relief.

“You could always import something in,” Iga suggested helpfully. 

“No,” both Matt and John said at the same time. 

“They’re right,” Geralt sighed. “Trevor wouldn’t like that. We’ll have to find something else.”

“Or we could just go kill something and bring the trophy back to him? I’m sure this city is crawling with things that need to get killed,” Eskel said thoughtfully.

“Hmmmm.” Geralt frowned. “But would that be any different than what we normally do? He needs to relax. Have some fun.”

“Master would love it if you killed something and brought back a trophy for him,” Iga added. Oh so helpfully. God, John kind of wanted to gag her, but deep down he thought that might only encourage her.

“Maybe, but Gabriel already knows how to have fun.” The grin on Geralt’s face was nothing short of filthy. 

Why. Why did John have to hear this. What had he done to deserve this?

Thankfully, he’d gotten a call shortly after that and was able to make his excuses and leave. He was haunted by the look on Matt’s face, the betrayal and desperation. It was fine. Matt would let him know if he needed to come back. Just as an apology, he sent Matt a text letting him know he’d found a collection of Alucard inspired artwork to keep the witchers occupied. 

The real trouble came, though, when Geralt got most of his staples out. No sooner had Dr. Miller walked out, after adamantly telling him to _stay in bed_, then Geralt had tried to get up. 

Eskel was right there, pressing him back down and threatening to tie him to the bed posts. 

As tired and stressed as John knew both he and Matt were, he felt even worse for Eskel. Every night after work, John and Matt would get together for beers and food, and both of them had noticed that Eskel had started to look a bit frayed. Matt said that Eskel hadn’t slept at all, and John believed him. There were deep purple circles under his eyes, and as the days progressed, he’d gotten grumpier in general. He still acted and moved like he was fresh, though. John had to assume it due to his enhanced biology. 

As far as they could tell, Iga and Geralt hadn’t noticed. That was mildly worrying. The three of them seemed to keep each other in line and entertained, as much as possible anyways. Iga regularly wandered off to go have relations with as many nurses and doctors as she could, and Geralt still slept most of the time, though it seemed to be in short stints. 

But Eskel never seemed to rest. He was always watching, always keeping guard and making sure Geralt didn’t stress himself. It made John worry. People made mistakes when they were tired, and Eskel was a trained killer. John didn’t want to see what would happen if he slipped with one of those blades during his terrifying daily training routine.

Their work all doubled once Geralt got it into his head that he needed to be up and about. Every chance he got, he was pushing himself, trying to be more active. He was _wrong_, and they all knew it.

Just to make the transition a little smoother, John and Dr. Miller had arranged for a physical therapist to come in. That ended badly almost right away. The physical therapist kept insisting that Geralt couldn’t possibly be able to do very much, and both Eskel and Geralt were right there ignoring her and doing the stretches anyways. She ended up quitting after the first session, and walked out looking like she was ready to tear her hair out.

Eskel helped Geralt with stretching after that. Or what he and Geralt claimed was helping. John was sure it was just an example of torture. Eskel had Geralt sit on the edge of the bed, then he knelt behind him and braced the side of his body against Geralt’s back. He’d take ahold of Geralt’s arm and stretch it back into nearly a ninety degree angle. He kept increasing the angle and the time held until Geralt became pale like paper and his face was beaded with sweat. 

Geralt must have been in horrible pain. After all, the same guy refused painkillers fresh out of surgery. Eskel didn’t offer any words of comfort, any encouragement. He just counted out the seconds out loud. He kept repeating the stretches, ruthlessly holding Geralt still whenever the man flinched too hard. By the time they went through both arms, and thirty repetitions, Geralt was looking green and woozy. He dropped off to sleep the moment he laid down flat. 

John couldn’t get the sound of Geralt’s uneven, painful breathing out of his ears and his mind for hours afterwards. The fact that Eskel and Geralt repeated the process just eight hours later was almost no surprise. John couldn’t stop wondering what kind of life they led, that they would be so used to treating their own bodies so brutally.

John couldn’t wait for Trevor to come back.

Could. Not. _Wait._

\---


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes from Quarra: Happy holidays folks, if you celebrate. I have to admit, this past week and a half has been pretty difficult for me, and the next month looks to follow suit. At the very _least_, I'll keep to the once-per-two-weeks posting schedule. If things go well, I'll try to be faster. But, uh, given my next 5 weeks, no promises. Just. Heads up for you all.

Dracula wrapped himself around the light of Alucard’s presence with all that he had. He put himself between that life he held so dear and everything else as he tore through the borders between the worlds, challenging any darkness to try and touch his precious cargo.

He was careful, oh so careful, when he pulled Alucard’s body together, letting it reform gently in his hold, keeping his being around like it a shield. Only when he was sure that Alucard’s consciousness had taken over the control of his physical presence did Dracula let himself reform. The darkness rushed with a silent roar to create his body, still holding his son. Instead of the kitchen at Kaer Morhen, the two of them stood in the middle of the portal room in Zobek’s tower in Castlevania City, what was now _Alucard’s_ tower.

Warmth curled up in Dracula’s chest as Alucard blinked his eyes open and looked into his own.

“Is this where you wanted to end up?” Dracula asked gently, not letting go of Alucard. He stretched his thumb so that he could put the pad of it against his son’s lips and feel how soft they were.

“It’s exactly where I want to be,” Alucard said quietly. His lips moved against Dracula’s finger with every word, and he never took his eyes off Dracula.

Alucard’s hair was so soft, and his body so close.

“Thank you,” Alucard whispered. He raised his hands to rest them on Dracula’s hips. A tiny shiver of pleasure traveled down Dracula’s back at the close contact.

“For what?” he asked, pulling Alucard a little closer in hopes that some of his warmth would pass on to his always-cold son. Alucard seemed colder now than ever before.

“You have been good to me.” Alucard parted his lips and licked at the finger still there. It was just a tease, a quick touch that was there and gone, but it pulled Dracula’s attention to that tiny spot anyway. “You have been so good to me.” Alucard’s hands slowly inched up Dracula’s sides, cool against his heated body. “Stood by me.” Now they were flush against Dracula’s ribs, and Alucacrd pulled them closer together. “Thank you,” Alucard repeated, and kissed him.

The kiss was slow, but not innocent. Alucard caught Dracula’s lower lip between his teeth and pulled at it, biting gently, waking the beast inside Dracula with this promise of violence. He kept at it until Dracula growled, low and soft; the barest hint of a warning. Then he licked in, wet and deep, tasting and challenging again. 

Dracula relished the way that Alucard’s hands dragged over his skin. The way his nails scratched at his ribs just hard enough to leave gently stinging marks in their wake.

He put his hands on those slim hips that he had such fond memories of, and pulled Alucard even closer until they were pressed chest to chest. 

“You are tired,” Dracula murmured in a quiet attempt to slow Alucard’s seduction. But he was already hardening. The desire for his son---something he normally kept under very strict control---was spiking with Alucard’s blatant invitation. 

He ground his hips against Alucard’s, relishing the pressure against his hard cock.

Alucard made a small sound, barely more than an exhale. He pulled his hands away from Dracula’s sides to frame Dracula’s face with his cold hands.

He bit Dracula’s lips again, and dragged his own cool, wet mouth across Dracula’s cheek, to his ear.

“Every time I look at you,” Alucard said quietly. His lips just barely brushed the shell of his ear as he spoke. “I want you.” He caught the lobe of his ear in his teeth and pulled slowly. “I can’t stand it sometimes,” he said through clenched teeth. “I can’t stand it when the demons touch you as if they have a right.” His voice dropped to a low growl, and his hands slid to Dracula’s shoulders and dug in. 

“I want to touch you,” he breathed right over Dracula’s skin. “I want you to touch me, mark me, fuck me.” He pressed his lips against Dracula’s jaw, trailing a line of kisses over the bone, which he then finished off by a shallow bite there. “You being so good only makes it _worse_,” he complained.

Dracula growled, his good intentions unraveling fast.

“I don’t have anything to ease the way.” Dracula pressed his face to Alucard’s neck and took a deep breath in. He smelled exhaustion, power, and lust on his son. So much lust that it made him dizzy.

“We don’t need it,” Alucard breathed. As he spoke, he let his head fall back, giving Dracula access to his long neck and allowing him to mouth at the pulsing vein there. “I’m still slick,” he said on a moan. Dracula bit down harder, making a line of indentations in the skin. “I made sure of that.” Dracula jerked him close and let took in a sharp breath. That knowledge lit an unbearable fire in him. “In the baths, before we cleaned up to head to Kaer Morhen,” Alucard added when he noted the reaction.

“You are a menace,” he growled, and then he kissed Alucard hard. 

He licked deep into Alucard’s mouth, asserting his ownership, his right to have him. He curled his hands in the fabric of Alucard’s pants and pushed power at the garment, into the very make of them, and forced them to dissolve. Then he spread his power to the rest of Alucard’s armor, all but ripping it off of him. 

His claws scratched at Alucard’s bare skin as he gripped his naked, firm cheeks and pulled them apart. The feeling of those tight muscles in his hands only served to push his lust higher. The little hitched breath Alucard made when his clothes faded away merely brought the beast closer to the surface. He pulled his claws in as he slid his fingers lower, between those amazing cheeks and over that little hole he’d loved so well just hours before.

He pushed two fingers in, feeling how easily they went in. Alucard’s hole was so soft and slick on the inside that it made a tiny squelching sound. Alucard moaned loudly; his hands locked around Dracula’s neck and shoulder as he held on for dear life. His legs were spread, letting Dracula do as he pleased, and his already mostly hard cock pressed against Dracula’s belly.

Dracula let his own clothes disperse. He was hungry for the contact, for Alucard’s skin pressed to his. 

He fucked Alucard with his fingers, deep and slow, making sure to pull out a breathless gasp out of him on every thrust. Oil and probably remnants of his own release started to leak out at the rough treatment. Alucard panted against his neck, his hole clenching against Dracula’s fingers on every thrust.

Dracula pulled his fingers out and threaded his other hand into Alucard’s hair. Then he pulling Alucard’s head back, forcing another tiny gasp out of him.

“Get me wet,” he growled, and pushed Alucard down.

Alucard’s eyes were dark and liquid. His lips were wet and parted as he stared at Dracula for a long moment, before he lowered his lids and gave in to the pressure, falling gently to his knees in front of Dracula.

He wrapped his hand around Dracula’s wrist, and turned his face and pressed his lips there to the inside of it. He kissed with his eyes closed, soft and sweet, and then licked along the tendons and veins there. 

Dracula groaned at the sensation of Alucard’s cool lips against his skin. At the sight of Alucard on his knees, his cock hanging hard and lonely between his thighs, and his hair silky and warm against Dracula’s fingers.

“I want to _devour_ you,” Dracula said quietly, pulling at Alucard’s hair to make him look up at him. “I want to eat you _whole_.” __

_ _He put his fingers against Alucard’s wet lips and pushed in, enjoying the feel of how Alucard loosened his jaw, and the wet, soft tongue sliding slickly around him. Alucard closed his lips around the invading fingers and sucked, licking over and over against the intrusion._ _

_ _Dracula moaned, unable to bear it, and pulled his fingers out. He wrapped his hand around his own cock and pulled Alucard closer, showing him what to do next. Alucard curled his free hand around where Dracula held himself, and leaned in with open lips. _ _

_ _He mouthed at the swollen head, tracing the thick shape of it with cool, wet lips. He mapped every inch, from the tip to the slit, over the glans and down where both their fingers were. He mouthed there too, licking over Dracula’s cock and his fingers alike, as if he couldn’t live without tasting it all. _ _

_ _It was messy and eager. His lips and tongue wetted Dracula’s achingly hard flesh, soothing and arousing the skin. He came back to the head, opened his mouth wider, and sucked. As he did that, he licked around the glans with tiny hitched breaths that stroked the burning fire in Dracula’s chest even higher._ _

_ _Every wet slide of tongue against the head, every suck and moan, shot zinging pleasure up Dracula’s back. He was leaking already. His cock pulsed in Alucard’s mouth, and he was panting hard. His eyes were stinging, for he didn't dare close them. He couldn't bear to lose a single second of this, of Alucard licking and sucking at the head of his cock as if his life depended on it._ _

_ _He moved his hand, letting go of his cock. Quickly, he caught Alucard’s wrist and held it tightly. With his other hand he tightened his grip on his son’s hair and let himself thrust forward. He did it slow, slow enough that Alucard would know what was going to happen, and would know there was nothing he could do to stop it. He pushed until the whole head was sheathed in the wet heat of Alucard’s mouth, until he heard a tiny whine leave his son’s throat, and then he kept pushing. _ _

_ _He pushed until his cock hit the back of Alucard’s throat, and then pushed past that resistance, too, cutting off the nearly subvocal whine. Alucard’s eyes were wide and liquid, almost unseeing as they teared up. Dracula kept pushing, keeping Alucard immobile, until Alucard’s nose was pressed to his belly. He stayed there, as deep in Alucard’s throat as he could get, feeling the desperate contractions as Alucard swallowed around him. Shudders raced through him at the pleasure of that tight, slick grip. _ _

_ _He pulled back just as slow, and watched, mesmerized, as fresh tears made their way down from the corners of Alucard’s eyes. He watched the way Alucard’s pupils ate up all the gold in his eyes, leaving nothing but pools of darkness. His throat contracted again and he choked when Dracula’s cock head left the tight confines of his throat. But even suppressing coughs, Alucard strained to lick at Dracula’s retreating cock, his tongue warm and slick against it._ _

_ _Dracula pulled out completely, hissing at the sting of cool air after the heat of Alucard’s mouth. He watched the way Alucard panted, his lips open and so wet, already a little swollen. Then he thrust forward again, deliberately not aiming at the invitingly open mouth. He let his wet cock slide against those smooth cheeks, feeling the difference in texture and temperature. He took his time spreading wetness all over that pale skin before he moved again to let the head of his cock rest against those parted lips._ _

_ _Alucard was so beautiful in that moment, eager and desperate. So lost in his lust that he seemed incandescent with it. _ _

_ _Dracula pushed in again, slow and ruthless. He gave Alucard no choice as he filled his mouth and then his throat, ignoring the resistance and going where he wanted. Alucard’s throat clenched against him, his involuntary spasms massaging Dracula’s cock each time. It felt beyond amazing. Dracula pulled back, but only a little. Then he pushed in again, never really leaving Alucard’s throat. _ _

_ _He bent over so he could wrap his hand around that long, pale throat that he was fucking, and shuddered at the way he could feel his own cock stretching Alucard from the inside._ _

_ _“I can feel it,” he rasped, staring into Alucard’s liquid black eyes. Alucard was shoved so close to his stomach that he could barely turn his face up enough to see anything, but still he strained to look at Dracula’s face. “I can feel my cock in your throat, stretching you. Fucking you.”_ _

_ _He pulled back just enough for Alucard to gasp in a desperate breath around the cock in his mouth. Then he pushed in again. The hand he held around Alucard’s neck marked his progress. He could feel his cock make its way down Alucard’s throat, how it stretched him, how it choked off Alucard’s moans._ _

_ _“I’m wrecking your voice now.” He pulled back halfway and thrust again, squeezing a few more tears out of Alucard’s eyes. “Everyone you talk to after this will know it. You won't be able to hide the evidence,” he promised, pushing in again and again, not letting Alucard breathe in between the thrusts. “But that’s not what I want to do to you,” he admitted, pulling out the final time. Alucard choked and coughed, panting for breath he didn’t really need. His blown eyes never left Dracula’s own._ _

_ _When Dracula pulled him up to his feet, Alucard went easy. He stumbled when Dracula let him take his own weight again, but steadied quickly at the hard grip Dracula took of his hips. _ _

_ _Dracula pushed until Alucard backed up the two steps needed for his back to fetch up against the wall._ _

_ _“Hold on,” he warned, but just the once. _ _

_ _His hands gripped his son’s hips tightly and he lifted him up, taking over Alucard’s weight. Alucard scrambled to comply; his rasping breaths were hot in Dracula’s ear as he held onto Dracula’s shoulders._ _

_ _Dracula moved in close between those long, amazing legs, and pushed his body against Alucard’s, pinning him to the wall. Alucard’s cock was pink and swollen between them, already spilling precome against his pale belly._ _

_ _“I won’t touch your cock,” Dracula said in a low rasp. His heart pounded in anticipation. “If you want to come, you have to do it on my cock alone.”_ _

_ _He shifted his hold so that he was holding Alucard by the cheeks of his ass more than his hips; his fingers pulled the muscles apart even as he pressed forward. Alucard made a high-pitched, lost sound as Dracula’s cock pressed against that vulnerable, wet little hole. Dracula shuddered at the way Alucard’s nails dug into his shoulders and back as he started pushing in. _ _

_ _There was resistance at first. His head pushed harder and harder at the ring of muscle that wouldn’t give. Alucard panted, and his whines got louder. Suddenly, they choked off right as the resistance gave and Alucard’s little hole, still slick from before, opened up to let him in._ _

_ _The heat inside his son was devastating. The tight slickness was almost overwhelming him with pleasure. It made him push harder, past all resistance, until he was seated all the way and his groin pressed hard against Alucard’s ass._ _

_ _His son was twitching and moaning against the wall; his head was tossed back and eyes closed as he panted for breath. Dracula circled his hips, hard and deep, and watched as Alucard’s pink cock, resting forgotten against his son’s belly, twitched and jerked with his every move._ _

_ _Dracula couldn’t stand it. The pleasure, the sight of Alucard so wrecked. He surged closer to cover those open, vulnerable lips with his own, and fucked slowly into his son. He didn’t let himself go as hard or as fast as he wanted; he kept the beast on a tight leash. _ _

_ _He fucked his tongue into Alucard’s mouth, licked and sucked at him as he pulled back almost to the end, until the flared head of his cock was pulling at Alucard’s abused rim. Then he thrust all the way in, shuddering wildly at the way Alucard bore down on him, his insides clenching and fluttering. Alucard’s knees were tight around Dracula’s sides, keeping them locked together and urging him closer at the same time. _ _

_ _Dracula fucked him deep and slow. He made sure to drag against his son's prostate on every move, to light Alucard’s body on fire even as his own mind was slowly consumed by pleasure that blotted out everything else. His whole world narrowed down to this. To the weight of his son in his arms, the taste of his shuddering moans in his mouth, and the tight, wet clench of Alucard’s body against his cock. _ _

_ _His throat, his ass. Dracula had it all. Fucked it all. Marked him in every way possible. _ _

_ _His nose was full of the scent of their sweat and Alucard’s precome spilling on his belly as his cock jerked uselessly against it. On every thrust in Alucard whined and twitched, scratching Dracula hard enough that he could feel wounds opening and healing at his back. Alucard’s legs were trembling where they were pressed against his sides, and his breaths were shuddery and uneven as he strained for a release his tired body seemed incapable of reaching._ _

_ _Feeling his own orgasm just a hair's breadth away, Dracula pressed himself harder against Alucard. He sped up his thrusts, finally letting more of the beast out, and breathed power right into the kiss._ _

_ _Alucard screamed. Right into his mouth, even as he swallowed the power. His body clenched down on Dracula and his cock spilled come weakly against his belly. It filled the space between them, breaking the last of Dracula’s control. _ _

_ _He kept breathing power into Alucard as he let his hips go as fast as his lust dictated, pounding hard and ruthless into his son’s body. The room was filled with the wet sound of their coupling. The oil and come inside Alucard dripped down their bodies. He breathed more power into Alucard, keeping him coming, keeping him thrashing and twitching, his cock jerking again and again between them. Dracula extended Alucard’s orgasm, prolonged the delicious contractions against his own cock until he came, too, pressing himself hard into Alucard and spilling into him._ _

_ _Alucard sobbed into his mouth as Dracula eased off on the power, letting his orgasm end finally. He shuddered and clung to Dracula, shivering and spent, looking like the most beautiful thing Dracula had ever seen._ _

_ _“Father,” Alucard gasped out as he wept, and clung even harder to Dracula._ _

_ _Dracula ran his hand over his son’s side, trying to pet as much as he could while still holding him up._ _

_ _“Alucard.” Dracula kissed him again, softer this time. Just a press of lips against swollen lips. _ _

_ _“Mark me,” Alucard whispered hoarsely, pulling his knees up and pressing them tightly against Dracula’s ribs. “Now, before I feed.”_ _

_ _Possessive want surged up inside of Dracula and he couldn’t help the growl that escaped from him. At the noise, Alucard let his head loll back, leaving himself open, baring his throat to Dracula’s teeth. It was irresistible. Dracula buried his nose into his son’s neck and licked all across the sweat salty skin there. He nipped and sucked as he went, rubbing his smartly trimmed goatee into the sensitive flesh. _ _

_ _When he found just the right spot, he sucked. Alucard shifted under him, clenching down on his cock still sheathed in him. Each little moan and breath from Alucard only egged Dracula on, driving him to mark what was _his_. He worried at the skin, biting just enough to leave bruising, but never so much that it broke the skin. _ _

_ _Alucard wanted to be marked, and Dracula would do his best to do it. To suck his claim right into the skin so everyone could see it. The taste of it flooded his senses, and he clamped down on Alucard's squirming body, holding him in place while his neck was ravaged. _ _

_ _When Dracula pulled away, Alucard whimpered in distress._ _

_ _“Hush,” Dracula said quietly. “I have marked you. So pretty. Bruised and _mine_.” He darted in to lick up that stretch of sore skin. “You should drink from me now. Regain your strength.”_ _

_ _“I don’t want to feed yet,” Alucard said in his destroyed voice. “I want to keep your marks longer.” He looked incandescent to Dracula. There were still the last traces of a blush on his skin. His lips were soft and swollen, and still a little wet. His eyes were just pools of velvet darkness and his long, pale neck was all marked up. He smelled of sweat and sex, softness and exhaustion. He was fragile and beautiful, giving himself up in the sweetest of ways._ _

_ _The beauty of that look made Dracula hesitate. His son still felt cool to the touch, was visibly weak and shaking. But the soft way he looked up at Dracula tugged at his resolve. _ _

_ _“Please,” Alucard begged, his hands clinging to Dracula’s shoulders tightly, fingers digging into the sweaty skin there. “Let me wear your marks for a while longer.”_ _

_ _That dark possessiveness inside of Dracula surged up and he squeezed Alucard tight. Just because he could, he shoved his cock a little farther inside of that wet, welcoming hole, savoring the gasp it worked out of Alucard’s mouth. He leaned in to lay a delicate kiss on the heavy mark on Alucard’s neck. _ _

_ _“Alright, my pretty one,” he murmured. “After you rest, then.”_ _

_ _They stayed there, pressed against the wall, as Alucard trembled in his arms. Throughout it all, Dracula kept up the pressure, holding him tightly and lavishing affection on him. He stroked down Alucard’s side and nuzzled into his hair, whispering soft endearments. _ _

_ _Eventually the trembling slowed and stopped. The sweat dried, and Alucard’s breathing steadied. Exhaustion ran through every line of his body, and Dracula found himself hesitant to let go at all. _ _

_ _“We should go in to see Geralt,” Alucard mumbled softly. His lips brushed against Dracula’s neck and his hands lay almost limp on the shoulders they were wrapped around. Dracula treasured that feeling. There was nothing quite like having Alucard’s soft, cool body draped against him, fucked into exhaustion and breathy with how well he’d been used._ _

_ _“Then you will rest,” Dracula said. The words were soft, but no less firm for it. _ _

_ _He did not like how quickly his son was losing his body heat. Not that the cold would kill him, or even damage him, but it spoke of a deep, draining exhaustion. Alucard would need to feed when he awoke from his rest, there was no doubt about it. _ _

_ _Maybe they could convince Eskel to join in for another taste. The thought of it curled up pleasurably in Dracula’s gut. His good witchers. Geralt, helping his son learn to enjoy the pleasures of the body, and Eskel, showing him that he didn’t have to starve._ _

_ _Alucard nodded. He didn’t pull away, but he did try to straighten up a little. Dracula took that to mean that Alucard was ready to get up, and he gently unseated Alucard from where he was still impaled deep on Dracula’s cock. A small rush of hot fluids came out as they pulled apart, and a massive shudder raced through Alucard’s body. _ _

_ _It was impossible not to rub a finger or two over that abused, wet hole. Sweet and plaint, Alucard just leaned in as Dracula let his fingers explore over that conquered ground._ _

_ _“So open,” Dracula said quietly. He was careful to keep Alucard’s still-wobbly body supported while he played. They should get ready, he knew this. But he wanted to rub his scent and his come into Alucard’s skin for a little while longer. “They’ll all smell me on you the moment we walk in. _Mine_.”_ _

_ _Just as Alucard was starting to pant again, Dracula pulled his hand away. As fun as it would be to wring another orgasm out of his son, he knew Alucard wasn’t up for it. _ _

_ _“Father,” Alucard moaned quietly. _ _

_ _“Yes,” Dracula answered. The word was more than an acknowledgement. It was a reassurance, too. _ _

_ _It took a couple of minutes, but Alucard steadied himself. Shakily, he walked over a panel on the wall and pressed his hand against a hidden scanner. This made a panel open up to a closet of sorts, holding a wide variety of clothes and other accessories common to Castlevania City. _ _

_ _Alucard briefly toweled himself down, wiping up all the excess come, oil, and sweat, and then began to dress in a dark grey-blue suit. He didn’t seem to even be trying to go for his normally polished and professional look. This was just something to make him presentable enough to pass muster. _ _

_ _It didn’t take long for him to finish. While he worked, Dracula summoned his own clothes; another solid black suit with his normal armored coat thrown over it. It was tempting, oh so tempting, to stick to his regular armor. But despite this being Alucard’s private domain now, his human servants would no doubt abound. Better to be cautious. Especially since it was obvious that Alucard himself was going to great lengths to keep up the fiction of being human._ _

_ _There was a curious sense of satisfaction in watching Alucard pull clothes onto his marked up body. There were bruises scattered over his thighs and back, his neck a riot of dark red marks. Dracula watched him dress, feeling lazy and pleased. _ _

_ _He let himself lean against the wall, and admired his son’s long and lithe form, the legs that stretched into infinity. His pale thighs were smeared with slickness, glistening gently in the banked light. He wanted to go there and touch it, to rub it into Alucard’s skin. He sighed with regret when Alucard pulled his pants up, the dark wool covering all that marked up skin. _ _

_ _It wasn’t all that bad, he supposed. He knew Alucard could feel it; he was wet and probably still dripping from his abused hole. Dracula closed his fist, letting his fingers rub against his palm, remembering how it felt to touch the smooth, swollen rim. _ _

_ _Alucard wasn’t looking at him, but Dracula knew he was aware of Dracula’s thoughts. He could see it in the slight blush that creeped back over the back of Alucard’s neck. He didn’t stop dressing though, leaving Dracula to mourn the flesh quickly disappearing from view._ _

_ _Soon enough, they were both ready. Alucard led the way through the halls towards wherever Geralt was being kept. _ _

_ _Portal room aside, the space looked very different from when Zobek lived here, and Dracula found himself relishing every little change. Every place where Zobek’s influence had been blotted out and overwritten by Alucard’s desires was a triumph, bitter though it was. Laced over everything was Alucard’s scent, growing stronger as they walked further into the floor._ _

_ _The room they came into was clearly Alucard’s bedroom. It was everything Dracula expected; elegant, tasteful, and spacious. _ _

_ _Geralt lay in the bed, propped up by several plush pillows. The many tubes and wires were gone, but he was still covered in bandages, with a few splints still strategically placed. He looked thin, pale, and more than a little exhausted, but he lit up when Alucard and Dracula walked into the room. _ _

_ _A chair had been pulled up close to one side of the bed, in between Geralt and the door. Eskel sat there with a tablet in hand._ _

_ _Alucard walked up to sit on the edge of the bed, and leaned in to kiss Geralt softly._ _

_ _“Again?” Geralt said sadly, no doubt smelling the scent of sex and come covering Alucard. Old and new, too. The depth of the scent would let him know that they had more than one round. _ _

_ _“Think of it as incentive to take your recovery seriously,” Alucard said firmly._ _

_ _Dracula smirked. He admired how ruthless his son could be, given the right situation. _ _

_ _Geralt just grumbled at him, but not too much. The pleasure at seeing them clearly outweighed everything else. _ _

_ _“You look beat, pretty wolf,” Geralt said softly, running a shaking finger down Alucard’s jaw. _ _

_ _“So do you,” Alucard replied, his voice hoarse. The sound of it was enough to drag a shiver out of Dracula. And Geralt, judging by the look on his face._ _

_ _But Geralt just shook his head. “Eskel’s been helping me get these scars stretched out. They tighten up something fierce when they heal. Bright side, I can move a bit.” He sighed, and rubbed the bandage over his torso. “It’s still a bit of a challenge,” he admitted quietly._ _

_ _“You look better though.” Alucard smiled at him, his shoulders dropping a little in relief. Or maybe weariness._ _

_ _“Go wash yourself,” Dracula said, leaning in behind Alucard to trail a hand down his back. “I know that you are dying to do so. I will tell them of the goings on at Kaer Morhen. Once you are done, you can lay here and sleep.”_ _

_ _Alucard hesitated, his eyes flickering between Geralt and Dracula._ _

_ _“I would love to sleep next to you,” Geralt said wistfully. _ _

_ _That was enough to make Alucard fold. He nodded, slowly at first, closing his eyes for a moment. _ _

_ _Then he sat up and turned to Eskel, still lounging in his chair at the edge of the bed. Alucard leaned in and wrapped him in a one armed hug, resting their foreheads together. _ _

_ _Eskel sighed quietly and leaned into it, closing his eyes. He wrapped one arm around Alucard’s waist and held on tightly to the fabric there._ _

_ _“Thank you for being here,” Alucard whispered, his voice still completely wrecked from the way Dracula pushed his cock inside it just minutes before._ _

_ _A light blush dusted across Eskel’s cheeks and pinked up the tip of his ears. It was enough that Dracula tilted his head a bit, scenting the air. Something about that made Eskel _interested_._ _

_ _It was difficult to hold back the smug smirk that threatened to spill out onto his face, but Dracula managed. _Barely_. The situation with Eskel was coming along just fine. _ _

_ _No doubt Alucard smelled it, too, though he didn’t let himself show a reaction. _ _

_ _“Go on,” Eskel said gruffly, letting go of Alucard’s waist. “We’ll be here when you get out.”_ _

_ _Alucard nodded heavily, and walked stiffly over to the bathroom, gently shutting the door behind him. A few seconds later, the quiet sound of the shower filtered out._ _

_ _Dracula took Alucard’s seat on the bed and leaned in to kiss Geralt as well. He licked into that wet heat, so pleased to taste Geralt’s unique flavor again, to breath in the scent of him. There was still the faint odor of poison, medicine, and rancid potions about him, as well as the heavy, metallic scent of scabbed-over wounds. But Geralt’s natural scent of skin and herbs and metal was stronger now. It eased something inside of Dracula to see and sense for himself that Geralt was on the mend. _ _

_ _“I’m so glad you’re alright,” Geralt said softly, once the kiss had broke. “We were worried.”_ _

_ _Dracula frowned._ _

_ _“Why?”_ _

_ _Geralt shot Eskel a tight glance, before looking back to Dracula. His gaze drifted down Dracula’s body, as if checking for some sign of invisible wounds._ _

_ _“When Iga showed up asking Alucard for help, we thought things at the castle must have turned pretty bad.” Geralt chimed in, his words interrupted by a yawn. He looked almost as tired as Alucard._ _

_ _“Iga is here?” Dracula asked._ _

_ _“She’s off getting a meal with Geralt’s nurses,” Eskel said quietly, amusement evident in his voice. “Those ladies have never been so happy.”_ _

_ _That only made Geralt pout a little. “Everyone is having fun but me,” he grumbled. _ _

_ _“You’d been gone a couple days, and then Iga showed up. Said that you went to sleep and that everyone was cut off from your power. There was unrest. So we moved here and Alucard went to go wake you.” Eskel looked to the bathroom door, his forehead wrinkled in worry. “That was several days ago. I’m glad you’re awake and alright. Geralt and I were planning to come find you both once he was up and able.”_ _

_ _Several days? Dracula knew there was always a bit of a time shift between the castle and the other places it was connected to, but he was sure it wasn’t ever quite as much as a few days. He remembered going to sleep, but he didn’t feel like he slept all that long._ _

_ _But he _dreamt_._ _

_ _He never dreamt._ _

_ _Not since he’d became a vampire. The Void power leeched all of his nightmares and dreams away. Yet he was sure there had been dreams this time. He couldn't remember any of them, just the general sense of disquiet._ _

_ _Alucard had been exhausted when he’d woken Dracula up. Dracula had assumed that it was still the lingering effects of his long-held time spell on Geralt mixed with stress and worry. But how long had Alucard been searching through the castle for him before finding him to wake him? Dracula knew better than anyone how dangerous a place his realm could be, and how unpredictable._ _

_ _He would need to interrogate his son. But not today, not when he was so soft and tired, when he welcomed Dracula in the gentlest of ways._ _

_ _Dracula could interrogate Iga, since she was close enough._ _

_ _“We need to make sure Alucard rests, first.” Dracula said. “We will come back to this issue later. For now,” he looked from one witcher to the other, “you need to know I moved the castle to your world.”_ _

_ _“Iga said.” Geralt looked a little wide eyed at that statement._ _

_ _“Kaer Morhen fits in very nicely,” he added, remembering how cute it looked all tucked in between his old buildings._ _

_ _Eskel snorted in amusement, and shook his head. _ _

_ _“Why?” Geralt asked softly. He ran a gentle hand down the collar of Dracula’s coat. There was a slight tremble to his fingers. Not so much that it could be seen, but Dracula could feel it. He found he disliked it greatly. For a brief moment he wished he could go back and burn the army that hunted Geralt to the ground again._ _

_ _“I have had enough,” Dracula said with finality. “Enough of waiting, wondering what was going on.” He looked at Geralt. “Unlike your previous lovers, I will not let you go because that’s easier.” He shrugged. “I prefer to alter the reality around you.”_ _

_ _Geralt’s eyes grew wide and shiny, and he gently tugged Dracula forward. “Kiss me. Please.”_ _

_ _Dracula obliged, tangling his hand into Geralt’s hair and holding on tightly as he kissed him, slow and deep, filthy and possessive, making it clear that Geralt belonged to him and he wouldn't be letting go anytime soon. Geralt yielded sweetly to those kisses, tangling his hands into Dracula’s coat and hair. Soft little sighs escaped from him as Dracula devoured him._ _

_ _After several, pleasurable minutes sped by, Eskel said quietly, “Your heart.”_ _

_ _Geralt groaned into Dracula’s lips and pulled back just far enough to glare at Eskel. “I will stab you.”_ _

_ _“At least you’ll be conscious to do so,” Eskel replied evenly. _ _

_ _“What’s the matter with your heart?” Dracula asked with a frown. He placed a hand over Geralt’s bandaged chest, feeling the slow steady rhythm there._ _

_ _That question only made Geralt glare at Eskel harder. “Nothing,” he said defiantly._ _

_ _Eskel sighed, as if on the wrong end of a long running argument. “His heart is fine, but he needs to keep his heart rate down. His system took a lot of damage, and the doctors are worried that elevated blood pressure might rupture something, or cause a clot to release and plug something up somewhere.” He shook his head. “I’m not certain on the details, but they sounded pretty adamant about it. So Geralt’s been explicitly told no sex until they give him the go ahead.”_ _

_ _“It’s bullshit,” Geralt grumbled, his head hung sadly. _ _

_ _Dracula ran his hand over the sharp jut of Geralt’s cheekbones and down to his lips._ _

_ _“I won’t risk your health for sex,” Dracula said, making it clear Geralt wouldn’t be allowed to risk his own health either. _ _

_ _“Easy for you to say!” Geralt squawked. “You are having plenty right now!”_ _

_ _Dracula was aware of Eskel making an odd sound, but his attention was taken by Geralt._ _

_ _“Yes.” Dracula confirmed, staring Geralt down with raised eyebrows. If need be, he could tie Geralt down to the bed for the next few weeks. He had absolutely no problem with that plan._ _

_ _Geralt could see that. Dracula could tell in the way his lips turned down and he sighed, grumbling uncomplimentary things under his breath._ _

_ _Dracula, magnanimously, pretended not to hear._ _

_ _As he sat there, he could smell another scent gently layered over Geralt._ _

_ _Eskel._ _

_ _It was on the bed and on Geralt himself, filling Dracula with a sense of proud possessiveness. He knew very well how much Geralt loved and needed touch. It looked like Eskel was making sure he got it._ _

_ _“Yeah,” Geralt sighed. “I know. Eskel’s been keeping me in line.” He waved a hand at the tablet on the little table next to the bed. “There’s an infinite supply of recordings of sex on there, but I can’t watch any of them.”_ _

_ _“They’ll be there when you’re all healed,” Eskel said, again sounding like he was repeating something he’d said a million times already._ _

_ _Dracula looked at him, at the circles under his eyes and the general feeling of exhaustion he was getting from the other witcher. Eskel had worked hard to fulfill his promise. He’d been more than loyal to Geralt. To them all._ _

_ _Dracula pulled back, focusing on his bond with the succubus. He could feel that she was already on her way; her presence moved steadily towards him._ _

_ _“There’s some kind of army at the walls of my castle, but Vesemir was adamant I don’t go and smite them.” Dracula shrugged, still feeling disappointed about that. He wouldn’t mind a bit of a snack. A thousand or so soldiers could have hit the spot for him._ _

_ _Both Eskel and Geralt blanched a bit at that._ _

_ _“Henselt?” Geralt asked._ _

_ _“Seems likely,” Eskel said. “What’s going to happen there then?”_ _

_ _“I left the matter to Vesemir and Orlaith to deal with.” Dracula shrugged again._ _

_ _He had thought that this would set both the witchers at ease, but they just exchanged another worried look. _ _

_ _“Do you think he’ll be alright?” Geralt asked Eskel. “An army at the gates is likely to bring up some bad memories for him. He survived the attack that killed Kaer Morhen, but he was the only one. And it took years for him to be...steady, after that.”_ _

_ _“I almost wouldn’t be surprised if he snuck out at night to go murder them all in their sleep. Just out of spite,” Eskel replied._ _

_ _“He could do it, too. He’s been on his Path for centuries. Even if the past year he’s been at Kaer Morhen more often than not, he’s still the most deadly witcher I know.” Geralt looked pensive for a moment._ _

_ _It was curious to hear them talk about Vesemir that way, as if he were a dangerous creature rather than a beloved father figure. There were glimpses of that ruthlessness in Vesemir, little hints that Dracula had noticed over the course of their interactions. But to admit that he would easily go out and kill hundreds of men, in their sleep, in cold blood. Dracula was impressed. _ _

_ _“He seemed well when I left,” Dracula said cautiously. “No more grumpy than he usually is.”_ _

_ _That seemed to set them at ease, or at least was enough reassurance for them to put the matter out of their minds. Dracula had discovered that was another interesting trait of witchers; if there was a problem they could directly impact, they worked to solve it. If it was beyond their abilities or influence, they briefly mapped out the possibilities and then set the matter aside. It might still bother them, like an itch that couldn't be scratched, but they wouldn’t worry incessantly at it. Very practical. Likely part of their training, too. As warriors, they would be focused on fixing the most dangerous and immediate problems first. _ _

_ _Sure enough, Geralt just nodded and said, “I’m sure they’ll be able to figure something out.”_ _

_ _“Orlaith might enjoy it,” Dracula murmured. “That one has odd hobbies at times.”_ _

_ _“Oh yeah?” Geralt raised an eyebrow._ _

_ _“I generally don’t pay much attention to what she does,” Dracula admitted. “As long as things are under control in the castle.”_ _

_ _Geralt nodded, though Dracula could tell he was still curious. Whatever he was about to say after that got punctuated by a deep yawn._ _

_ _“Matt should be here any moment,” Eskel said reluctantly. “I let him know that you both had returned. He insisted that he’d be on his way.”_ _

_ _As reluctant as Dracula was to put some space between him and Geralt, he couldn’t help but be a little intrigued. So far, Matt had proven to be amusing. He wondered if that would continue to hold true._ _

_ _Either way, he would keep his hands on Geralt for as long as possible. It would be easy enough to keep an ear open for the sound of the human’s approach._ _

_ _\---_ _

_ _As thrilled as Matt was that Trevor was back, he was not excited at all to hear that Belmont Sr. had joined him. He wanted the sanity to return to the tower and that man was not indicative of that._ _

_ _He knocked at the door and waited to be let in. _ _

_ _Eskel was the one that opened the door. He looked tired, even Matt could see that. In Matt’s experience, a person who hadn't slept as long as Eskel hadn’t should be hallucinating by now, but he was obviously too enhanced to let such a trivial matter as lack of sleep stop him. _ _

_ _“Trevor is in the shower cleaning up,” Eskel said, standing aside to let him in. _ _

_ _As soon as Matt entered, he shut the door behind them and made sure it was relocked. Then he wandered back towards the bed, perching in a chair across from it._ _

_ _Gabriel Belmont sat in what Matt had started to consider Eskel’s chair. It was the one placed right next to the bedside, directly in between Geralt and the door. He was dressed exactly as he had been before; in a black on black suit and button up, no tie, with that heavy red and gold armored coat slung over his shoulders. Whatever had happened that required Trevor’s attention so urgently, Belmont Sr. didn’t look any worse for wear because of it._ _

_ _Matt did not frown, but found it strange that his boss would go for a shower instead of getting an update from him or John. _ _

_ _“Matt,” Belmont Sr. said, an odd glint in his red eyes._ _

_ _“Sir,” Matt responded, nodding respectfully. _ _

_ _He didn’t know if Belmont Sr. wanted to say anything more to him. Before he could find out, the door to the bathroom opened and his boss left it in a cloud of steam._ _

_ _Matt looked over and froze. This was the first time he’d ever seen Trevor in this particular kind of disarray. He was dressed in a midnight blue robe with white cranes printed on it, the silk clinging to his still damp body. It was barely closed, with most of his chest and the enormous scar across it exposed. His normally pale skin was flushed with heat, and the muscles delineated sharply in a way that told Matt that Trevor might be a little dehydrated. His hair was loose around his shoulders, reaching almost down to his waist, still damp and much darker than usual. Almost blue, actually. Strands of it clung to the robe and his skin, leaving damp spots everywhere._ _

_ _“Matt,” Trevor greeted him. The sound of his voice was startling. It was hoarse and wrecked in a way that Matt had never heard from him before. When Trevor shifted to look at him, Matt saw the vicious hickey sucked into his pale throat, glaring at him offensively from across the room._ _

_ _Holy shit, his boss had gotten _laid_. _ _

_ _That had never happened before, to Matt’s knowledge, anyways. Not that he thought Trevor couldn’t find someone to spend a pleasurable evening with. It was just that he never had. Nor had he ever seemed even vaguely interested in such a thing._ _

_ _But there was the evidence right there. _ _

_ _He finally realized that he was staring, and quickly glanced away. _ _

_ _“John is at a meeting in one of the lower offices, but he can be up here to brief you whenever you’d like.”_ _

_ _Matt risked a look back up. Both Eskel and Belmont Sr. looked faintly amused, but Trevor just waved a hand at him. “There is no rush. I’m rather tired.”_ _

_ _He looked more than just tired. He looked like he was about to fall over where he stood. And his _voice_. Matt tried very, very hard not to think about what would make Trevor’s voice go all rough like that. _ _

_ _“Which is why you were gonna come here and sleep, right?” Geralt said, his voice a mix of stern and hopeful. He’d even pulled back some of the covers, leaving the side open for Trevor to slide under them._ _

_ _For a moment it looked like Trevor would object. But then he sighed and nodded. It was harder than ever not to stare at the way he slipped into the bed and curled up next to Geralt. There was a kind of familiarity to the movement, as if he was used to curling up next to somebody. From experience of a long term bachelor, Matt knew it was no easy feat to learn to sleep with somebody. _ _

_ _Almost the moment Trevor was horizontal, he fell limp, already fast asleep. He looked younger with his face relaxed and damp hair spread everywhere._ _

_ _“Eskel,” Geralt said softly, trying to reposition Trevor a little more comfortably. Before he could so much as reach a hand out, though, Eskel was there helping. The two of them arranged Trevor’s sleeping form so he was close to Geralt’s side, head comfortably rested on a pillow, and tucked in under the heavy blankets. _ _

_ _Somewhere along the way, they must have discovered the heating controls on the bed, because Eskel grabbed the remote for it out of the end table. He poked a few buttons and then raised an eyebrow to Geralt._ _

_ _“He’s cold,” Geralt said softly, one hand rested on Trevor’s head. “Go ahead and crank it up.”_ _

_ _Eskel nodded, set the controls, and then dropped into the chair there._ _

_ _Geralt lingered, watching Trevor’s sleeping face with a kind of tenderness that kept taking Matt off guard. Geralt was slowly pushing individual strands off of Trevor’s face, making sure they wouldn’t fall into his eyes or stick to his lips. This gesture, too, spoke of familiarity. He knew he was allowed the touch, and Trevor wasn’t a man that invited touch, even from friends. _ _

_ _Interestingly enough, Belmont Sr. watched the gestures with an expression that Matt couldn’t read. He wasn’t reacting, and Matt knew that he was unreasonably possessive of Trevor._ _

_ _It was almost bizarre to see how tenderly the two witchers cared for Trevor. First, because of the sheer physical closeness of it. Trevor was never so tactile, not with anyone. Second, because it was a stark contrast with the dangerous ruthlessness that both witchers had displayed so far this week. Up until now, Matt thought that they were specifically Belmont Sr.’s bed partners, but now he really had to wonder. _ _

_ _Again, Matt caught himself staring. What was worse, he caught Belmont Sr. staring back at him. Watching. _Assessing.__ _

_ _Ever cautious of Geralt’s original request, and now even more conscious of not irritating the heavily armed killing machines in the room, Matt found a seat and made himself less of a threat. _ _

_ _A second knock at the door startled him. When he got up to check on the camera who it was, he wasn’t really surprised to see Iga there, with her dark green dress hugging her curves lovingly._ _

_ _“Hi, Iga,” he said as he stepped back and let her inside the room._ _

_ _She didn’t respond. Her eyes were already glued to Belmont Senior. She side-stepped Matt and headed straight for him._ _

_ _The last thing Matt expected her to do was kneel. _ _

_ _But kneel she did, gracefully and smoothly, as if she’d practiced the movement a million times. She came to rest just beside Belmont Sr.’s chair, took his hand, and kissed the back of it, murmuring a quiet, “My Prince.”_ _

_ _Maybe the most shocking part was Belmont Sr.’s utter lack of reaction at the beautiful woman kneeling for him._ _

_ _It was one thing to know that Iga was owned. It was another thing to see that in action._ _

_ _Matt watched as Iga turned Belmont Sr.’s hand hand and pressed it to her cheek, kissing the palm briefly. Her eyes were closed and she looked absolutely and totally submissive, as if she was ready to spend hours kneeling beside Belmont Sr.’s chair. Matt looked at Geralt, but he was still busy with fussing over Trevor. Eskel watched Iga without much of an expression. Matt couldn't tell if it was because he was already used to the sight or just didn’t care. _ _

_ _The incident with the tailor was enough to show him that Eskel, much like Geralt, could turn from an affable and friendly man into a stone cold killer at a drop of a hat. It made him uncomfortable, this ability to lose all empathy and emotion seemingly effortlessly._ _

_ _“Why are you here,” Belmont Sr. asked, looking down at Iga finally._ _

_ _“Steward sent me, My Prince.” Iga kept her eyes cast down, but continued to hold onto Belmont Sr.’s hand worshipfully. “You were out of reach, not even Steward could contact you. And the more unruly residents started getting…” She cast a look towards Matt. “Frisky, so to say, in your absence.”_ _

_ _“You came to summon my Son for aid.” Something in Belmont Sr.’s tone of voice made Matt think that he was a little incredulous over this. Why that would be, Matt had no idea. While he would have never pegged Trevor for being involved in whatever deeply shady business that Belmont Sr. must control, obviously he was at least familiar with it._ _

_ _“My loyalty is greater than my dislike,” Iga said, still on her knees and holding onto Belmont Sr.’s hand. It seemed that the ability to touch him was a reward in itself for her, the expression on her face clearly speaking of pleasure. _ _

_ _It made Matt feel slightly nauseous._ _

_ _So Matt wasn’t imagining the faint distaste he’d observed. It made him wonder about what sort of situation Trevor had grown up in. It also made him wonder about who Trevor had spent his night with. Was it someone else whose loyalty outweighed their dislike? Belmont Sr. seemed like the kind of man who would insist on his son taking care of a carnal itch, whether or not Trevor was very interested. How much had Trevor gotten used to giving in on, simply because it wasn’t a battle worth fighting?_ _

_ _“You remained here.” Belmont Sr. made it sound like both a statement and a question._ _

_ _“Steward commanded that I follow your Son’s orders. He had me stay and guard Geralt in his absence.” Iga sighed happily and leaned a little closer to Belmont Sr.’s hand. _ _

_ _Any moment now and she would be rubbing up against it like a cat. That little twist of nausea in Matt’s stomach grew. What had Belmont Sr. done to her to give this kind of reaction? Was it drugs? Some kind of brainwashing or training? _ _

_ _“And were there any incidents?”_ _

_ _“No, My Prince.”_ _

_ _Matt held back a snort. No incidents, his ass. That whole little mishap with the tailor flashed through his head. But as unpleasant as that was, Matt absolutely did not want to give Belmont Sr. reason to punish Iga. Regardless of what she may or may not have done. Though Matt couldn’t fathom if Belmont Sr. would be more annoyed at her assaulting the tailor or for letting him live._ _

_ _Something of his internal struggle must have shown on his face, though, because Belmont Sr.'s red eyes snapped towards him. _ _

_ _ _Fuck._ _ _

_ _“Is there something you want to say?” Belmont Sr. asked, his eyes fixed on Matt. He didn’t like the intensity of that gaze, the almost physical weight of Belmont Sr.’s attention._ _

_ _Silence stretched for a moment as Matt frantically tried to figure out what to say._ _

_ _He was saved by Eskel, who snorted in amusement, drawing Belmont Sr.’s gaze away from Matt._ _

_ _“Matt and John had us fitted for clothes,” Eskel said. “Iga’s first tradesman decided to take liberties when he wasn’t invited. She very gently taught him the error of his ways.” He shrugged. _ _

_ _“And that’s a problem how?” Belmont Sr. frowned and looked from Eskel to Iga. “Were you told to entertain the tradesman?”_ _

_ _“I was not, My Prince. For which I am grateful. He smelled like he would be a poor lover. Cruel and selfish.” Iga wrinkled her nose in distaste._ _

_ _“As if you care about gentleness,” Belmont Sr. snorted, but then he pulled his hand away from Iga and motioned for her to get up. “You did well. I don’t appreciate anybody partaking in that which is mine, not without paying for it first.”_ _

_ _The casual brutality of those words forced a shiver up Matt’s spine. Not only did it mean that Belmont Sr. could and did spend Iga’s time and body like money, to be used as a commodity, but it also meant that Belmont Sr. felt that he was getting something out of Matt’s people and all the medical staff that Iga had been sleeping with._ _

_ _Dammit, this was exactly why he told his people to stay away. He needed to ferret out who partook of this particular service and weed them out. They’d disobeyed orders and they got themselves beholden to Gabriel fucking Belmont._ _

_ _“It wasn’t really a problem,” Eskel said with a shrug. “I even set the man’s arm for him. But I think Trevor’s people aren’t used to such immediate repercussions for poor behavior.” He cast a dry look towards Matt._ _

_ _“There are laws,” Matt couldn’t help but grumble through gritted teeth. He knew he should just keep his mouth shut. He knew it. But the urge to speak was impossible to ignore._ _

_ _“Besides,” Iga chimed in, louder than Matt spoke, arranging herself attractively at the foot of the bed. “I’m having fun here.” She looked to Eskel. “No offense, but Kaer Morhen was getting boring.”_ _

_ _“None taken,” Eskel said easily. “You aren’t the type to enjoy routine.” As far as Matt could tell, Eskel truly wasn’t annoyed by Iga seeking new...hunting grounds?_ _

_ _“You can do as you wish, as long as your actions don’t impede my goals.” Belmont Sr. said, waving his hand at Iga._ _

_ _She smiled winningly at Belmont Senior._ _

_ _“I’m loyal,” she said. “My extracurricular activities will never impede your goals.” _ _

_ _“If you did move on from Kaer Morhen, you should still stop by from time to time. I think Vesemir likes having all the people around.” Eskel stared off into the distance, thoughtful. “The keep feels alive again.” Those words were said softly, almost wonderingly._ _

_ _“Kaer is where the three of us are stationed now,” Iga said, looking at Eskel oddly. “Ian, Eyra, and I will be there unless ordered away.” Then she smiled. “I love torturing Vesemir. He's almost gotten used to us spending time in his bedroom.” She looked down at her nails. “We will have to come up with something else to make his mornings more lively.”_ _

_ _Again, Matt felt incredibly bad for this Vesemir fellow. _ _

_ _“Is this your vengeance for him not putting out yet?” Eskel asked, obviously stifling a grin._ _

_ _“He can always decide to bed one of us.” She paused. “Or all of us.”_ _

_ _“Good luck with that,” Eskel laughed, shaking his head. _ _

_ _“I kind of feel bad for Ian,” Geralt said, finally tearing his attention away from Trevor. “We should find someone for him to spend time with.” Then he yawned widely. He was obviously fighting sleep, his body slumping more on the bed._ _

_ _“He’s fine,” Belmont Sr. said dismissively. “It’s not like he’s starving.”_ _

_ _“He looks so pitiful though,” Eskel sighed, looking conflicted._ _

_ _“He can always try and get Lambert drunk,” Iga said cheekily. “It’s not like Lambert is very picky, you know.”_ _

_ _That made Eskel laugh._ _

_ _“You think Lambert wouldn’t notice he had a guy in his bed?”_ _

_ _“You never know. Ian is resourceful.” Iga smirked._ _

_ _“And desperate,” Geralt added, yawning widely again._ _

_ _The look Eskel gave Geralt was an odd one. If Matt had to guess, he would have called it envy, or some softer, subtler version of it._ _

_ _“You should lay down and rest,” Eskel said to him._ _

_ _That absolutely did make Matt snort softly in amusement. “Pot calling the kettle black.” Then he froze as he realized everyone was staring at him. Eskel practically glared daggers at him, while the others mostly looked confused._ _

_ _Matt kicked himself. He’d gotten too used to just talking casually with Eskel and Geralt. But some part of him was pleased. Maybe now Eskel would actually get some rest._ _

_ _Belmont Sr. frowned and looked at Eskel._ _

_ _“You really don’t look well,” he said unexpectedly, and got up from his chair. “When was the last time you slept?”_ _

_ _Eskel glanced away. “It’s been a little while. But I’m fine.”_ _

_ _“He hasn’t slept while here,” Matt tattled promptly. “At all.”_ _

_ _“What?!” Geralt shot up straight, and then winced hard. “Here at the tower? We’ve been here for days. Did you meditate?”_ _

_ _“I have not seen him sleep since I met him at the hospital,” Matt continued snitching._ _

_ _Eskel glared at him. “Not since Ciri woke me at Kaer Morhen. And no, I haven’t meditated.”_ _

_ _“Why?” Belmont Sr. asked, frowning._ _

_ _Eskel shifted in his chair uneasily, unwilling to catch anyone’s gaze. “There is work to be done.”_ _

_ _“And you’re anxious,” Geralt said. When Eskel shot a glare at him, he raised up a hand in surrender. “You are. I can practically smell it.”_ _

_ _Belmont Sr. approached Eskel, his presence oddly dominating over the still-seated witcher. There was something strange in the way that Eskel’s eyes flicked to him and then flicked away, as if he couldn't quite get himself to look at the older Belmont for long._ _

_ _Belmont Sr. reached out and took hold of Eskel’s jaw. The moment his hand touched the scarred skin, Eskel blushed. It wasn’t much, just a pink dusting along his neck and cheeks, but it was unexpected enough from the usually very composed man that Matt noticed right away._ _

_ _“You are very tired, aren’t you?” Belmont Sr. said, almost gently._ _

_ _“Yes,” Eskel whispered. “I can’t rest.” His eyes flickered around the room, taking in Geralt, Trevor, and every single potential entry and exit point. “It’s better if I’m awake and on guard.”_ _

_ _Belmont Sr. dragged his thumb over the scars on Eskel’s cheek; the gesture was tender as well as possessive. “You did well,” he murmured, his voice low and the odd accent was stronger._ _

_ _“I…”_ _

_ _“It’s enough. You will rest now.”_ _

_ _“Wha---”_ _

_ _“_Sleep_.” The word sounded powerful, and Belmont Sr.’s voice was dark and strong. It resonated oddly in the room, enough that it raised the hair on Matt’s neck. _ _

_ _What happened next was even worse._ _

_ _Eskel’s lids dropped as soon as the last sound passed Belmont Sr.’s lips, and his whole body went limp, sliding off the chair. Belmont Sr. caught him, unsurprised, _ready_ for him to lose consciousness._ _

_ _Matt watched, horrified, as the older Belmont picked Eskel’s powerful body up as easily as if he was picking a child, and carried him to the bed where Geralt was already pulling the covers back._ _

_ _“I hate it when you do that,” Geralt sighed as he watched his friend being lowered to the bed. _ _

_ _Disbelieving, Matt watched the slow raise of Eskel’s chest, and the way his eyes were moving under his lids. He was limp in a way that indicated deep sleep, maybe even REM stage._ _

_ _After a single _word_._ _

_ _The kind of power that implied, the control, was deeply unsettling. More so because Matt had been watching Eskel train for days. Not only did Belmont Sr. knock someone out with a word, but he had the kill switch on someone as dangerous as Eskel. Someone willing and able to murder without care or thought. _ _

_ _The simple idea of it was terrifying, and reminded Matt of every cold war era spy thriller he’d ever read. Brainwashed assassins and deep cover sleeper agents. Geralt’s words only drove that fear deeper. It implied Belmont Sr. did this often. Maybe with both witchers._ _

_ _Then Matt remembered how he’d walked in to find Trevor sleeping on the couch at the hospital. He’d looked like he would wake, then with a single word Belmont Sr. had pushed him back into deep sleep. _ _

_ _Holy shit, Belmont Sr. brainwashed his own _son_. Implanted command words into his mind._ _

_ _What _else_ could Belmont Sr. make them all do? And no wonder why Trevor believed his father’s power was inescapable. If that man had control over even Trevor’s body like that, it must have felt as if Belmont Sr. was nothing else than a god._ _

_ _Matt believed that he’d met a lot of terrifying people in his life, seen a lot of terrifying things. He realized now that he was in the presence of the most dangerous man he ever had the misfortune to meet. _ _

_ _That’s when he remembered that the Belmonts were famous for fighting Dracula and his minions. If this is what kind of power they held, what must Dracula be like?_ _

_ _“Matt,” Belmont Sr. asked, still looking down at the sleeping, defenseless Eskel. “Is there anything that requires my Son’s attention right away?”_ _

_ _“No, sir.” It was true after all; everything was taken care of by John or Matt long before Trevor came back. While John did have things that Trevor should know about, none of it couldn’t wait for another day._ _

_ _“Then leave us.” Belmont Sr. commanded. “Both of you.” he looked to Iga. “They need time to rest and I can be whatever protection they might need during that time.”_ _

_ _“My Prince,” Iga stood up, her eyes demurely lowered as she bowed gently. She then turned towards Matt and caught his eye. “Let’s go.”_ _

_ _She threaded her arm through Matt’s and started pulling him towards the door._ _

_ _He didn’t want to follow, not and leave Trevor alone with Belmont Senior. At this point, he was even worried about Eskel and Geralt. The two of them might drive Matt nuts, but the idea of leaving anyone so defenseless against Belmont Sr.’s power alone with him buzzed under Matt’s skin unpleasantly._ _

_ _Unfortunately, Matt also knew he didn’t have a choice. He let himself get ushered out of the room, and hoped that everything would be alright at least until he got back._ _

_ _\---_ _

_ _It was something of a relief for Dracula to be alone with his lovers. Some part of him wanted to amend that thought; Eskel wasn’t a lover yet. _ _

_ _Yet. _ _

_ _Regardless, he had time to wait, and until then Eskel was still _his_. _ _

_ _A deep, possessive pleasure welled up inside of him when he looked at them all curled up on the bed. Safe and warm, nestled in each other’s scent and embrace. _ _

_ _“He kept dressing in this world’s clothes for you, you know,” Geralt said quietly, watching him carefully._ _

_ _“Hmm?” Dracula dragged his attention away from the enjoyable view, and focused at Geralt. _ _

_ _“Eskel.” Geralt said looking down at his friend. “He would have preferred his armor, but he stayed in those flimsy clothes because you asked him to.”_ _

_ _Ferocious pleasure bloomed up inside of Dracula, and hard on its heels was hunger. He’d told Eskel to blend in, to keep to these human clothes, and Eskel had. Despite personal displeasure and discomfort. He’d obeyed. Submitted to what Dracula wanted._ _

_ _Oh, what a good witcher. _ _

_ _So good and all for _him_._ _

_ _The very thought of it made him want to press his lips and fangs against that strong, scarred neck and bite. To penetrate that body in all the ways he could, to mark him, eat him, take in all of Eskel that he could. He wanted to own Eskel, possess him, _devour_ him. _ _

_ _Dracula sat on the edge of the bed, close to where Eskel was resting, and ran a hand through Eskel’s hair. He would allow himself that much touch. There would be time for more later, but until then he knew that Eskel liked this particular touch very much. So much like a cat, he loved to be petted. _ _

_ _“You really like him, don't you?” Geralt asked._ _

_ _“He’s been an unexpected pleasure.”_ _

_ _Geralt bit his lip and looked down to Eskel. “You like how he listens to you. He’s more...biddable than either Alucard or I.”_ _

_ _Dracula narrowed his eyes, looking at Geralt more carefully. Yes, he did like that. He liked the way Eskel could give in so sweetly to him. He had no illusions about the man’s strength, knew how well the witcher could fight and take care of himself. But there was something there in the way he seemed to like giving in to Dracula that woke up the deeply possessive, powerful instincts inside him._ _

_ _“Are you jealous?” Dracula asked, curious. There was a bit of a flutter inside him, something almost like nerves. He never once thought that his fascination with Eskel could be a problem to Geralt. Was he wrong?_ _

_ _“Ha, no.” Geralt smiled warmly at him. “Maybe a little at first, but not for a long, long time. I like how happy you are with him, and how much happier he’s become in general. Eskel is not a man who makes connections lightly. I think what you two share, and what he shares with Alucard, has been really good for him.” He hesitated._ _

_ _“But?”_ _

_ _Geralt’s wrinkled his brow a little, and a tension wound up inside of him. “But I think you need to be careful. Eskel is...” He opened his mouth, visibly struggling to find the right words. Then he sighed. “Eskel has no fucking idea what he’s doing. The way Alucard and I give in to you, we know what’s involved. We understand the risks, and we trust you to care for us and see us through. More than that, we’re...armored, I suppose, against hurts.” He smirked ruefully at Dracula. “We can handle some rough treatment.”_ _

_ _That brought to mind all the wonderful ways that both Alucard and Geralt deeply enjoyed that rough treatment. Alucard loved the bruises as much as Geralt loved his claws. Both of them, in their own way, dared Dracula to do more, to stretch them to their limits._ _

_ _“When we yield to you, we do so with the knowledge of what to expect.” Geralt’s voice went low and rough for a moment, and Dracula could smell the faint hints of arousal on him. “He does it on instinct. I have no idea why he acts like that with you, when I don’t think he’s ever done this with anyone else, but you need to be careful because he doesn’t know what he is doing.”_ _

_ _Dracula thought those words over, and as he considered them he absently continued to pet Eskel’s hair. _ _

_ _It was true that Eskel seemed very anxious, fearful at times of their connection. But Dracula could taste the need on him, the way he craved someone to care for him and make him feel safe. It was that very need, repressed though it was, that drove Dracula into forcing the issue at times. Eskel was very much like his son, in some ways, ignoring his own needs beyond sanity or reason. _ _

_ _“He is so much more vulnerable than Alucard or I,” Geralt said. “He’s likely to be far more sensitive to you than either of us.”_ _

_ _“But I like him vulnerable,” Dracula admitted, for the first time admitting he might not fully know what he was doing, not always, not with everybody._ _

_ _“I think he likes it, too. So often he’s the one taking care of everyone around him. Don’t get me wrong, I think he likes that as well, but…” Geralt paused. “We weren’t built for soft things, and Eskel has long since cut that out of himself. To his detriment, I think. I think you forcing the issue for him, is freeing in a way. He doesn’t have to choose if you do it for him.” _ _

_ _“So what’s the problem?” Dracula was still confused about this. _ _

_ _“It’s a very thin line you are both walking,” Geralt said, catching Dracula’s hand and squeezing it. “It’s an act of willful blindness, and it can one day end. If you are not careful, if you push too hard, if you don’t take care of him properly, one day he will stop letting himself be blind and that may end in tragedy.”_ _

_ _Geralt shook his head a little. “I’m not sure how to explain it. But push too much, and he’ll break. He’ll start thinking he doesn’t deserve any of it and run. If you aren’t careful enough with him, he could break another way, and lose whatever comfort he’s getting out of this. He feels safe with you now, and I think he might start allowing more, as he becomes more secure with that.”_ _

_ _“I wouldn’t hurt him.” Dracula frowned. But then he thought back to a few months ago, when Geralt and Alucard were both occupied and he’d tracked Eskel down instead and fed from him. “Much,” he amended._ _

_ _That made Geralt snicker, but he shook his head. “It’s not physical damage I’m worried about. You hold his sanity and heart in your hand, and it is far more fragile than you think.”_ _

_ _“I will be careful,” Dracula said, looking down at the sleeping witcher. “I have no intention of harming him by accident, just as much as I don’t want to harm him by deliberate action.”_ _

_ _Then he looked at Geralt, both eyebrows raised._ _

_ _“Does that mean you want to have him in bed, too?”_ _

_ _The look of horror on Geralt’s face was deeply amusing. “No. Absolutely not. You and Alucard are welcome to enjoy yourselves, and I have no problems with that, but no. Eskel and I are close, but not like that.”_ _

_ _“Are you sure?” Dracula pressed, leaning lower. “I wouldn’t want to deprive you.”_ _

_ _Now it was Geralt who looked slightly panicked._ _

_ _“Yes, I am very sure. Very. I do not want to sleep with Eskel.” Geralt swallowed. “Ever.”_ _

_ _The temptation to tease was just a little too much for Dracula to resist. “And yet I could smell him on you, and on the bed.”_ _

_ _“Not like that!” Geralt yelped._ _

_ _“If we are talking orgasms,” Dracula continued. “I also didn’t have any with him. So we are both in the same boat.”_ _

_ _“Trust me, I’m aware of your frustrations,” Geralt said dryly. He shifted down a little bit in the bed, making himself more comfortable. Or perhaps he was just running out of the strength needed to stay upright._ _

_ _“So how is your sharing bed with Eskel different from mine?” Dracula licked his lower lip. “Since all of that is, let’s say, platonic?”_ _

_ _“Are you kidding me? You two practically ooze sexual tension. It’s a wonder you haven’t driven the rest of us insane with it.” Geralt paused to yawn, and then winced as the movement stretched his wounds in a painful way. “Eskel gave me a pity cuddle. I’m gonna have to buy him some top shelf booze as a thank you.”_ _

_ _He tried shifting again, but winced and paused. _ _

_ _Dracula leaned forward and lent him an arm for leverage, and Geralt tossed him a grateful look. Between the two of them, they managed to get Geralt horizontal in the bed, cuddled in close between Alucard and Eskel. _ _

_ _“How are you feeling?” Dracula asked, feeling tender and worried at the lingering signs of damage on Geralt._ _

_ _“Better than I was, but Gods I hate being so laid up.”_ _

_ _“Good enough to take my power?” He asked, trailing a hand over the pale neck he used to mark up so much._ _

_ _The look Geralt gave him was filled with so much longing, such a fierce want that Dracula almost leaned in to give that power regardless of the answer. After a long, pained moment, Geralt slumped down and shook his head. _ _

_ _“My insides feel wrecked,” he admitted. “Eskel worries too damn much and the doctors keep shifting between shaking their heads at me and trying to wrap me up in bandages. I don’t like being so weak. But...I don’t think I can take your power yet. Everything still feels all broken inside.” His jaw tightened stubbornly, and he looked into Dracula’s eyes. “I won’t risk leaving you all permanently just because I want to get out of bed a few days early.”_ _

_ _Dracula leaned down and pressed his lips to Geralt’s. It wasn’t even a kiss, just a touch. He wanted to be able to touch Geralt freely. This vulnerability, this fragility was killing him. He was afraid he would cause damage when he wasn’t intending it. He was used to Geralt being this unquenchable force; somebody he could push and push, and who would always bounce up demanding more. This whole situation was beyond uncomfortable and Dracula wished he could just end it, fix it. Waiting for Geralt to fix himself was unbearable._ _

_ _“Soon,” Geralt whispered into his mouth. “This will be over soon. Witchers heal fast. And once I’m feeling better, I plan on locking us all in your bedroom until one or more of us passes out.” Very delicately, he licked up into Dracula’s mouth, and one of his hands came to rest in Dracula’s hair. _ _

_ _“I hate waiting,” Dracula grumbled, pulling away before he gave into the urge to just sprawl and rub himself all over them just to make sure they smelled sufficiently like him. He could also change shape into something bigger, something that could cover all of them, but he didn’t want to break Trevor’s people._ _

_ _“You and me both,” Geralt said sleepily. His eyes had already grown heavy, and he pressed into the bodies around him. He blinked, and then blinked again, clearly struggling to stay awake. “Want your scent.”_ _

_ _Pleasure curled up inside of him at the request. Geralt wanted to be marked by him as much as Dracula wanted it. He shrugged off his coat and settled its heavy, armored length over them. It was just barely wide enough to cover them all, though he had to nudge Eskel a little closer and help Geralt shift to his side. _ _

_ _By the time he was done arranging them, Geralt was fast asleep._ _

_ _Dracula growled with both pleasure and frustration. They were all so pretty together. Perfect, wrapped up in his power and coat. But they were all, every one of them, exhausted beyond measure, and Geralt was still too damaged to really press into. _ _

_ _It was moments like this that showed him again just how different he was from any living being. He was not tired, didn't feel real hunger or much weariness. When he watched them rest, he felt like there was this huge distance separating them. He would live, through everything and anything that happened, until the end of days. They would be gone one day, leaving him alone with his immortality._ _

_ _Reluctantly, he pulled up a chair and eased into it, leaning as close as he could towards the bed and its precious cargo. He stretched out one arm and rested it on his coat. The soft movement of breath under that fabric was soothing on his palm. He inhaled slowly, taking in the combined scents of them all. Then he settled in to watch, and wait._ _

_ _\---_ _


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes from Quarra: Happy New Year, folks! I dearly hope that this next year, this next decade, brings health, happiness, and prosperity to us all. Hell Month continues for me, but I was able to get another early posting for you all. Yay!
> 
> Also, I have made up some stuff about the history of Kaer Morhen. Because sometimes canon is vague as fuck, which means we authors get to add in what we want. But, you know, just a heads up.

“The city walls are changing,” the mage said.

King Henselt frowned. The mage was his direct correspondent to his commanders stationed with the army at the dark city. He’d been getting regular updates, but now they were coming much faster.

A few hours ago the city had lit up. 

Lights were burning in the towers. Most were an eerie magical blue, but a few sported more natural orange glows. Smoke rose from chimneys and there was movement behind the elaborate stained glass windows. 

“What do you mean?” Baron Jalenth asked. 

Henselt and his entire council were still holed up in his strategy room, taking only short breaks for sleep and refreshment. The anxiety of the situation at hand as well as the close confines were starting to wear on everyone. As much as Henselt dreaded what might come out of that massive city, he was more than pleased that _something_ was finally happening. 

“A large door has appeared in the gate, directly in front of where the bulk of our army there is stationed. It has not opened, and it is lined with balls of magic fire.” The mage conjured a miniature illusion of the wall and the door in question, demonstrating exactly what he was talking about. “It just manifested out of the solid stone. There were ten lights around the edges of the door when it appeared, but so far two have gone out; one every ten minutes.”

The mage pointed to the illusion, showing how the lights lining the frame of the door seemed to be counting down.

“And when the lights go out?” Prince Merwin asked.

“The door opens, no doubt,” Henselt said with a frown. “But what will come out of it?”

“It wouldn’t be an army,” Sabrina mused. “If they’d planned on attacking, they would have just done it. Adding a warning to when the door opens would only be a disadvantage for them.”

“Unless they want us to know that they are coming,” Prince Merwin stated acidicly.

“There is a giant fucking city that manifested in the mountains. I think we know they are coming.” The look Sabrina gave him could have melted glass it was so caustic. Merwin actually blanched a little.

“It’s bound to be a delegation. Or a show of force. Or most probably, both,” Duke Glanster added. “My recommendation, Sire, is that we ready the army for an attack, but stay our hand until we see what overture the city makes.”

As much as Henselt wanted to simply attack whatever came out of that door, he had to consider that waiting was the wiser move. 

“How big is the door?” Henselt asked. If it was small enough, it could be a bottleneck area. Perfect for holding off a vast army, on either side, though those of the city would have the advantage. If it was large enough, Henselt’s army could charge in, but no doubt the city will have supplied enough forces to make that a challenge. 

“Large,” the mage answered. “Large enough to allow twenty armored riders moving abreast without discomfort. Though we cannot be sure, it seems as though the door was made for today’s specific purpose. We couldn’t sense any type of illusion on the wall. Nothing to indicate that it had always been there and was merely hidden from us.”

“Which means that the width suits their needs. No doubt they will have enough troops to fill it,” Henselt said, thinking hard. 

“We have the siege engines ready,” Merwin added. Apparently Sabrina’s rebuke had already worn off. “We could prepare them for forced entry, jam that door open.”

Possible, but again Henselt had to wonder about the probability of success. It wasn’t just ordinary troops they’d have to deal with. The city was obviously magical in nature, which implied there would be mages inside. Likely attached to the army, as well. Now Henselt’s army had its own mages, but none of them, singly or collectively, were strong enough to do anything so dramatic as manifest a whole damn city. It would be nice to assume that whatever force was able to manage that for the inhabitants of the city had already spent its power, but they couldn’t count on that. Henselt had to assume that a mage of that level of vast power was at the city’s beck and call. 

Henselt sniffed and straightened. “Gather up the army, be sure to watch our flanks. Keep scouts out along the wall. I want the siege engines ready, just in case we do need to make a run for that door.” He stood up. “Jalenth, stay here and mind the court. Sabrina, Merwin, Glanster, you three are with me.”

The rest of the members of the council stood up.

“Sire?” Merwin asked. 

“We’re headed to the front.” Henselt smirked grimly. He always preferred to oversee battles himself. “Also, bring along that useless witcher. Maybe he’ll be a good bargaining chip.”

By the time Henselt was dressed for battle and portaled to the front along with his chosen councilors and guards, there were only two burning flames left on the door.

Truth be told, none of the reports did the door or the wall justice. The whole structure was _massive_. 

The tall arching spires that sprung up from along the wall and inside the city were lit up like torches in the night. A cold wind flew down from the new mountains that the city had imported, each of them easily as high and as tall as the largest of those in the Blue Mountain Range. The smaller mountains that were native to this area were dwarfed by their transplanted, ice covered brothers. 

Another blue light extinguished itself as Henselt watched, seated high on his massive warhorse. He expected that the relative height from the little hill his command center had decided to set up on would give him some perspective. He was very wrong. The whole, terrible place still looked impossibly grim.

“How the hell did anyone manage to move this?” Prince Merwin whispered next to him.

“That is the damn question, isn’t it,” Sabrina muttered back. 

Both of them were astride their own beasts, ready to ride out with Henselt and his personal guard in case of battle or parley. Though Glanster stood with them on his own mount, he was being kept in reserve for any potential coming battle, held back to continue to organize and command troops if Henselt became too caught up in fighting to be easily reached. 

Waiting was a thing every soldier was familiar with, and now was no different. His troops were as ready as they would ever be. Each and every one of them watched the wall and its massive door, counting down the seconds until the last light went out. Then they would all finally see what happened next. Be it death or victory.

A small eternity passed before that final flame flickered out. But instead of extinguishing entirely, it somehow flowed into the door itself, illuminating a complicated pattern of winding metal shapes in the door. They twisted and spun; the creaking sound as the door shifted was so loud and deep that it was almost a sensation as well as a sound. 

Slowly, the massive door split down the middle, to become double doors. They swung open, revealing several more layers of portcullis behind them. Each one was made of twisted black metal. It looked more like tangled, thorned metal vines than any gate Henselt had ever seen. They hummed and groaned as each one was lifted.

For the life of him, Henselt couldn’t see anything beyond them. Only darkness. Since they were nearing midnight, that wasn’t spectacularly surprising, but it was at least a little unsettling. He expected some kind of light. Something to illuminate the way for whatever was waiting behind the gates.

A single rider stepped out of the blackness and slowly made its way through the gate and out into the empty no-man’s-land between the wall and Henselt’s army. As that rider came forth, a cold, bitter wind followed him. It raced through the camp, causing every lantern and flame to flicker and dim, and cut through even the heavy fur cloaks of the Kaedweni forces. That flicker of unease grew within Henselt, and from the soft sounds of shifting platemail around him, his soldiers felt it, too. 

The figure from the city stopped dead in between the city walls and Henselt’s army, and waited. Henselt pulled out a spyglass and took a look.

It was a witcher. An ordinary looking witcher, though a bit older than any Henselt had ever seen. The twin swords on his back were as much a dead giveaway as his well-worn armor and wolf’s head medallion around his neck. His rugged face was calm and he sat easy on his horse, as if he were just out for a late night stroll. 

Both Henselt and the witcher waited. 

After a few long, aching minutes, Henselt gave a nod and sent his herald out to greet the witcher. 

The herald sported the royal livery, the image of a black unicorn on a solid gold field, and he sat astride a fine black gelding. His silver armor shone in the army’s lights, and he cantered up with great aplomb. 

As soon as the herald was in range, the witcher called out. His voice carried over the army with surprising clarity. Henselt almost suspected magic, but quickly cast the idea aside. Everyone knew that a witcher’s magic was paltry and weak.

“I am Vesemir!” the witcher called out to the herald. “Witcher of the Wolf School and Guardian of Kaer Morhen. The Steward of this castle wishes to speak with King Henselt, so that they may come to an accord. Will you treat with her?”

So they were looking to send a delegation. That was promising.

“I am Sir Lanne, Herald to the King. His Majesty is open to negotiations,” the herald called out. His voice carried too, but not quite as well. Perhaps because he was facing the ominous walls rather than the army. That would make sense. 

Henselt was still nettled that the witcher was able to out-project the royal herald. 

“My role here is to be a mediator between both sides. Nobody wants this to turn into a bloodbath,” the witcher replied.

Well. That was almost correct. Henselt wouldn’t mind the bloodshed so much as long as he _won_. Given the looks of the city, though, that might not be likely. Even admitting that to himself made him want to snarl.

“Send forth for the city’s delegation then. I will speak with them.”

The witcher barked out a laugh. “You? No. She’ll speak with King Henselt. Don’t bother pretending he’s not here.”

Tricky witcher. Audacious of him to refuse like that, but appropriate. He recognized the insult for what it was, the bid for the upper hand, and neatly blocked it. Henselt, of course, could take offence, but the man was a _witcher_. Expecting any kind of courtesy out of one of them was like asking the moon to fall from the sky, and everyone knew it.

“What makes you think a mere steward is worthy of speaking with our king?” The herald sounded curious, pitching his voice in that perfect balance between courtesy and blatant insult.

“The Steward commands the castle and she’s also the only one willing to actually parley. Now be a good lad and go fetch your master.”

There was a pause as the herald absorbed this comment. He was too well trained to react to the insult.

“My King will meet the delegation in a specially prepared tent.” The herald looked around. “Nobody wants to negotiate in such cold and darkness.”

Henselt could just barely see the witcher’s lips twist down at the corners and his shoulders heaved in a sigh. “It is true enough that it is a cold night. As long as your specially prepared tent is within sight of the walls, we will join King Henselt there, for his comfort.”

A curl of satisfaction welled up in Henselt. They’ll set up surrounded by all of his army. Perfect for taking this steward hostage if need be. 

The herald nodded. “Bring forth your delegation and I will escort you to My Lord.”

“I have no control over the delegation,” the witcher said. “The delegation is coming, whether we want it or not.”

While the witcher had said he was only there to mediate, Henselt found that hard to believe. But those last words were unsettling. Ominous, even.

Henselt didn’t have long to wonder about them. No sooner had the witcher spoken, than the cold wind picked up again, seeming to gust right out of the open city gates. The frame of the gate was still lit up with a faint blue glow, so it was still possible to see the area even in the middle of the night. But the deep blackness that rested beyond the gates swelled up, boiling in the air, thick and slow. It flowed out, roiling and churning, with half-recognizable shapes forming in the mist, obscuring one foot length at a time as it crept closer through the gate.

When that awful, hair raising darkness reached the front doors, a rider strode out of it.

Henselt saw the glow first. Two red points that shined inside the darkness, trailing afterimages of red light behind them as they moved slightly from side to side. It took a moment for him to understand what exactly he was looking at. 

Those two red lights belonged to the eyes of a horse. The beast was massive, dwarfing even Henselt’s warhorse. It had a long mane that flowed easily down its sides. There was no visible harness on it and it had way too many fucking teeth; each one shined like sharpened pewter. Glowing red marks trailed down from its neck and onto its sides; they didn’t quite look like runes, but neither were they precisely organic. It was like nothing he’d ever seen.

The rider was as unusual as the horse. It was a woman, sitting upon the horse sidesaddle, like a highborn lady. The fact that the horse had no saddle or any other harness meant that the rider didn’t have anything to hold on to. Neither she nor the horse seemed to be bothered by this; both moved together with ease.

She was a fragile looking woman, thin and tall. Almost frail. Her jet black hair was quite long. Thin braids decorated the crown of her head, but the rest fell down until it got lost the pitch dark hide of the beast she was riding. The dress she had on was also black, or so he thought at first. When more light from his own army reached her, he saw that it was a deep, burgundy red.

Sparkling, red stones framed the neckline of her dress and threaded through the intricate braids framing her face. Each one shone with a brilliant inner fire, and was as big as a newborn’s fist. Even from a distance, Henselt could tell those stones were of the highest quality.

The woman was pretty, but not the kind of stunning beauty that Henselt was used with sorceresses. They were young and voluptuous, catching the eye of every red blooded male. The rider wasn’t any of those things. It was hard to assess her age from the distance, but she definitely didn’t give the impression of being young. Her face was pale and thin, and it had a sense of calm to it. A sharpness that came from confidence and experience. She wasn’t nervous. There was no hint of tension in her posture or face. 

As she rode closer to the witcher, a great billowing darkness followed her like heavily condensed mist. 

The farther away from the gate she rode, the more light there was to see her by, and the stranger her horse looked. The beast’s fangs were easily as long as a grown man’s hand, and it dwarfed both the witcher’s and the herald’s mounts. Frankly, the witcher’s common farming horse looked all but pitiful next to it. The dull beast was standing there placidly, while the herald’s beautiful beast danced under him, obviously shying away from the demon horse.

The darkness that undulated around her changed; it became thicker, looking almost solid as it rolled into itself. It rose up in the air above the Steward, arching high like a dragon, before sinking down hard and soaking right into the ground. It twisted behind her, painting the earth black; a living shadow that followed in her wake. 

That…was not what he expected. He turned towards Sabrina.

“Can you get rid of this...darkness...if you need to?”

“...I don’t know.” Sabrina sounded shaken. “The power this one radiates is…” She shivered. “I have never felt anything like that.”

“So she is a sorceress?” Henselt asked, surprised. He turned to one of the runners waiting ear by. “Make sure that we have dimeritium bombs ready.”

Glanster looked over at Sabrina.

“Do we even know that dimeritium will harm them?” he asked. Henselt didn’t like how Glanster looked to her first before carrying out the order. That was a problem he would have to keep an eye on. And perhaps remedy in the near future.

Sabrina looked tense and unhappy. 

“That, below us, is _power_. But it’s not _magic_. Not the way me or any other mage is familiar with,” she said. Then she turned her eyes towards Henselt and he realized she was _afraid_.

“It feels endless,” she continued. “Sleepy and curious, unstoppable like the ocean. It’s like watching a god walk the earth again.” She swallowed. “We have to make a treaty with the denizens of this castle because I don’t think we can fight them if just one feels as powerful as this Steward does.”

Henselt huffed.

“Mages are powerful,” he said. “But it’s not mages that wage wars, nor has any mage or sorceress ever won a war, much less a battle. It’s _men_ that do.” 

The withering look that Sabrina cast at him let him know what she thought about that statement, but she minded her tongue and kept her mouth shut.

“Steward Orlaith,” The witcher said. He turned his horse to the approaching woman and bowed slightly. “King Henselt has prepared a tent for you to discuss matters in comfort.” Then he looked to the Herald. “Sir Lanne will lead us there.”

She nodded to him, and then turned to look at the Lanne with a slightly raised brow. 

That was Henselt’s cue to go get ready in their meeting tent. As soon as the herald suggested it, their servants no doubt already were setting it up, arranged in place by Glanster. The trick would be to look as if Henselt and his people had been lounging at their ease for hours, waiting magnanimously. 

Thankfully, that had been taken into account. The meeting tent was located in a way that meant Henselt could get there in less than five minutes, while the Herald would drag the delegation at a suitably steady pace through an unnecessarily winding path between the encampments.

Henselt didn’t bother ordering his people to follow him. He knew they would or face the consequences of failing him at this crucial time. It irked him that Sabrina was so sure they shouldn't attack. He wasn’t so weak that a show of power would make him quake in his boots.

He also wasn’t stupid enough to act without enough information. There was no point to attacking an unknown enemy without at least having a real chance of winning.

It was a simple matter to jump down from his horse and hand his beast over to the stable hands already waiting by the back entrance of the tent. Two more of his household servants awaited at the tent’s back entrance. Well, it wasn’t entrance as much as it was a seam opening. The aides held the flaps open, ready to close and tie the flaps together as soon as Henselt and his people were through.

Inside, more servants waited. One pulled out the chair for him and two more came to take away the heavy cloak he had on over his armor. From the corner of his eye he could see Sabrina glowing slightly as her winter cloak and heavy leathers changed into a fur lined dress with bare shoulders; something more appropriate for indoor wear. 

Prince Merwin and Duke Glanster were also being attended; the aides helped them out of their cloaks and stowed them in specially prepared chests. 

The heavy, oval table was set with silverware. There were bottles of uncorked wine waiting, and empty chairs stretching out along the unoccupied sides of the table. Bowls of fruit and small delectable treats peppered the the table. Small braziers lined the sides of the tent; each one was fueled by magic so that it would let off heat and light, but never be a fire risk, even in a tent on uneven ground. 

Henselt wasn’t the most powerful king in the Northern Kingdoms, nor was his kingdom the richest, but they did well for themselves and had an abundance of magical power at their disposal. That meant that at a moment’s notice they could provide an opulent display such as this. 

He settled himself on one of the long sides of the oval table, with his councillors flanking him. The way the table was situated meant that they were facing the tent’s main opening. Each of them was presented with a glass of wine. The other length of the oval table was quickly arranged to leave only two empty seats, one directly in front of Henselt and the other just to the right.

After only another few short minutes of waiting, the forward tent flaps were opened, and the Steward walked in. A single step behind her and just to one side was the witcher. To Henselt’s vast surprise, the Steward’s monstrous horse was behind her, too, following her right into the tent. The witcher’s horse was outside, interestingly. Did that mean that the Steward’s horse was special in some way, or was she just particular about her mount? Either way, it was a good thing the tent was large, because otherwise it would have been a tight squeeze. 

Beneath all three of them, the black shadow crept across the ground, causing every light behind the Steward to bank and flicker. The room seemed colder, too, and a small breeze chased around the tent. It never seemed to touch her at all, though; not even a single strand of her long hair fluttered around. Every part of her was polished and perfect.

Per proper protocol, Henselt did not stand for the Steward, though his councillors did. Again he was mildly surprised, because the Steward didn’t bother stopping to bow or kneel, something that would have been customary for meeting a foreign ruler. She simply took her seat in front of him, prim and proper as any courtly lady he’d ever seen.

She looked him right in the eyes, and held his gaze for a moment. Her eyes were the most extraordinary green color. Almost a sea-green, deep and vibrant. He’d never seen their like before. Finally, she nodded to him, never once letting her gaze drop. She was treating him as an equal. Him. A _king_. 

“Greetings, King Henselt. I am Orlaith, Steward of My Lord’s castle.” She raised a hand to the witcher. “This is the witcher Vesemir, who has graciously offered to help mediate this negotiation. He is here to help make familiar what is unknown to me.” Then she gestured to the monster horse. “This is Night, My Lord’s personal warhorse and Queen of the Mara.”

Vesemir bowed politely, but he, too, never too his eyes off of Henselt. Henselt half expected the horse to bow as well, but she just bared her sharp teeth delicately in something that was disturbingly similar to a smile. The horse’s title had to be hyperbole, anyways. It was ridiculous for him to expect any kind of an intelligent reaction from the beast. Henselt quickly dismissed it from his mind.

So the witcher was there to help translate, or at least that’s what it sounded like. No doubt there was another reason, and Henselt had to wonder just how much the witcher was getting paid. Their kind didn’t work for free. At the very least, it was a good ploy. Orlaith could be as rude as she wanted and pass it off as a difference in customs. Very clever. 

Henselt returned Orlaith’s regal nod. 

“Greetings, Steward Orlaith. These are my councillors; Merwin Ademeyn, Prince of House Ademeyn; Benost Glanster, Duke of Ban Ard; and Sabrina Glevissig, Member of the Lodge of Sorceresses.”

He motioned for the rest of them to take their seats. While Vesemir sat down at the same time as his councilors, the horse Night didn’t bother. She just loomed next to Orlaith, with her ears perked forward in interest. 

As they all settled, servants fluttered around them, pouring more drinks and revealing hot hors d'oeuvres. There was a bit of stalling and some panicked looks as they tried to figure out what to do about the bloody demonic horse in the tent, but Henselt disregarded it. He only had eyes for his opponent at the table. 

The silence stretched on. Orlaith seemed perfectly at ease holding his gaze, showing neither boredom or discomfort. She could have been made of polished garnet and alabaster, with how little she moved. 

Once the servants had departed, Henselt decided the staring contest had gone on long enough.

“You, Lady Steward, and your lord’s castle are trespassing on my lands. With an armed force, no less. And you,” he turned to Vesemir, “are in violation of the law here, aiding an invading force. As you are a citizen of Kaedwen, I am within my rights to hang you for treason, without trial.”

For the life of him, Vesemir already looked like he was bored out of his mind. Henselt didn’t know whether to be irritated or impressed with the man’s sheer audacity.

“With all respect, your Majesty, no, you are not.” Vesemir set his hands in front of him on the table, and smiled. “The witchers of Kaer Morhen are not citizens of Kaedwen. No witcher is a citizen of any country, though some of us have earned titles for services rendered. Three hundred and fifty years ago when Kaer Morhen was built, the land was gifted to us by the then King Ansel, your many times great grandfather. Again, for services rendered. That valley and the surrounding mountains are ours, and will remain so as long as any Wolf witcher lives. While we follow the laws of this country when we reside in it, we are our own guild, independent of the rights and responsibilities of your citizens.”

A short frisson of anger spiked deep inside of Henselt. “And yet we offer you the strength and protection of our armies and treaties. By that alone we should claim you under the banner of Kaedwen.”

Something about that must have touched a nerve, because Vesemir’s smile grew vicious and he leaned forward just a touch. The sheer predatory menace in that gaze made Henselt shift uneasily. He suddenly remembered every fantastic story about witchers he’d ever heard, how they bested unimaginable monsters and could fight off dozens of men without taking a single injury. And just as Henselt was armored for war, so was Vesemir. He still had on all the tools of his trade, swords included.

“Oh, is that so,” Vesemir growled, still smiling like he smelled blood. “And where was your protection the last time an army came to Kaer Morhen? They laid siege to us for weeks before their mages broke through our walls and slaughtered our children. You had plenty of time to come protect what you would _claim under your banner_.” The smile turned into little more than a baring of teeth. It only lasted for a moment, and then Vesemir blinked it away, his expression slipping back into something calm and casual. “No. You didn’t care then, and you don’t care now. You’ve no right to claim us as yours, and so you have no right to demand our loyalty.” He shrugged. “What few of us are left, anyways.”

Shit and fuck. 

Outmaneuvered. 

Henselt gritted his teeth for a moment. But he had to shake his head and smile. The old witcher was a formidable opponent. Sharp and direct, like any aged warrior he’d ever met. He had to admire it, even as it nettled him.

“So right you are, witcher.” Henselt nodded to him, conceding the point. “You’re still aiding a hostile invading force, which even as a guest of my country is against the law.”

“Nonsense,” Vesemir said pleasantly. “I’ve been hired to help you two negotiate. I’ll grant you, it’s a little outside what witchers normally do, but Steward Orlaith and her Master have been most generous with their payment.”

“And the fact that this city now surrounds your ruin of a keep? Was that part of your payment?” He let a hint of scepticism show up in his voice.

“Coincidence, believe it or not.” Vesemir shrugged. “I can promise you, I had no idea or intention of having new neighbors.”

“That is true,” Orlaith said. “My Lord did not consult with Vesemir on the placement of his castle, though we did take Kaer Morhen into account when we transitioned here.”

“And who is your lord?” Henselt asked her, curious. He’d also sensed that he would get nowhere with Vesemir. The man was too canny and had his arguments too well thought out. Best to change the subject and circle back later if need be.

“Oh, are you speaking to me now?” Orlaith smiled charmingly at him. “Wonderful. My Lord is Dracula, Lord of Chaos.”

She was a cheeky one. Gods, she did remind him of a member of the Lodge. But Sabrina said she was powerful. Beyond powerful. Maybe that had something to do with it. 

Lord of Chaos? Really? Henselt had to stop himself from sneering. A truly ridiculous title, and obviously made up.

“And why has your lord, Dracula, come to my country?”

“His business is his own,” she replied evenly. “But the land that the city rests on, and that immediately surrounding it, we claim as ours. My Lord has no desire to expand, nor even any interest in interfering with any part of your country or how you run it. But if you attack him or what he claims as his, we will rouse our armies, and lay waste to everything in our path.”

The calm, pleasant demeanor in which she spoke those words was chilling. 

Before Henselt could respond, before he could even so much as scoff at her, a faint rumbling began in the earth beneath them. First, there was a slight tremor, then a shaking, so much so that the china rattled and those who were standing weaved and flailed. From the cries of the army outside, the great shaking was happening all around them. 

After only a few seconds, it tapered off and stopped entirely. Henselt looked around, and tried to keep the panic off of his face. Merwin was pale with terror, and both Glanster and Sabrina were white lipped. It wasn’t just the show of power that was so frightening, though the sheer amount of magic that would be needed to make such an earthquake was incredibly impressive. It was the way the very earth seemed to turn against them for a moment. What could his army do, what could any army do, against such magic?

“That is, of course, assuming My Lord doesn’t come to clear out the opposition himself.” She glanced at Vesemir. “He does love to have a little fun, now and again.”

Vesemir snorted and rolled his eyes. “Gods, he would, too.”

The witcher’s casual acceptance of this as fact left Henselt cold. Who the bloody hell was this Dracula?

“How did you do that?” Sabrina asked. Her voice was rough and quiet with alarm, and her hands clung to her chair in a white knuckle grip. All around them were the sounds of people crying out in fear, of horses stamping and armor clanking, as hundreds and hundreds of men all attempted to gain their bearings. 

The smile Orlaith gave her was a tiny thing. Almost matronly, actually, as if she were schooling a little girl on subjects beyond the child’s abilities. “I am Steward of My Lord’s castle. There is no aspect of its holdings that I do not control, all at the pleasure of My Lord.”

Henselt took a breath. 

And then another one. 

As much as he did not want these people or this castle on his lands, he was starting to believe that he might not have a choice. Surely this small portion of his army could and would be wiped out rather quickly, just by this one woman’s power alone. He’d fought against bad odds before and won, but this…

This was too much, even for him.

While he knew that people often thought of him as a hothead, he wasn’t known for being an idiot. He knew when a battle was unwinnable. 

“What do you want?” he asked. 

“Peace and quiet,” Orlaith said simply. “Send your army away. Do not attack us, or our people, and we will return that favor.”

“That’s it?” Henselt couldn’t quite believe it. It had to be a ploy, part of a larger plan. 

She hummed for a moment, and then looked to Vesemir. “The witchers of Kaer Morhen. My Lord has taken a liking to them. They are unique. Fearless. We claim them as ours. They should have safe passage through your kingdom, and the ability to work as they usually do; hunting in exchange for gold, as is their way.”

Henselt glanced to Vesemir, but the old witcher was simply giving Orlaith a dry smirk. 

“Only the witchers of Kaer Morhen?” Henselt asked, needing to be clear. He thought of the one they’d brought along with them.

“Now there is an interesting question,” Vesemir said, tapping a finger against the table. “I think Lord Dracula would only truly care about us Wolf School witchers, those few of us left that call Kaer Morhen home. But it is also true that most people cannot tell the difference between schools. So grant your safety to all witchers, let us hunt and travel in peace, and it will guarantee that you do not draw Lord Dracula’s ire. Especially with something so stupid as an accident of mistaken identity.”

Silence stretched for a moment as Henselt waited for the rest of the demands. He flickered his gaze between them, but both Orlaith and Vesemir just waited calmly. 

“That’s it?” Henselt said, somewhat incredulous. “That’s all your Lord wants? To be left alone and to give witchers free rein?” 

“We have very simple needs.” Orlaith smiled at him beneficently. 

“And you vow to never raise an army against me?”

“We have an army already. There is no need to raise anything. It is just a matter of whether or not we are provoked.”

It seemed too good a deal for Henselt to pass up. But at the same time, it was one he felt he couldn’t afford to decline, regardless of his suspicions. If Orlaith alone was as powerful as she seemed, his men here would have no chance. All she’d need to do was command the earth they stand on to swallow them up. Granted, they could move out of range of the city, assuming that it was the city that quake came from, but that was what she wanted anyways. Just to be left alone.

Truthfully, he could see no down side, apart from his own frustration and the loss of face. A foreign power did just show up out of nowhere an annex a part of his mountains. But, again, there was nothing here truly worth fighting over. There were no valuable resources to be had. Not that he knew of anyways. Just rock, poor soil, and some trees. Plus some shitty, broken down witcher keep.

The whole situation rankled something fierce, but he couldn’t see a way out of it. 

“And when will we meet your Lord?” Henselt asked, half curious and half afraid.

“I do not know.” Orlaith shook her head. “But he does not enjoy the company of humans. I doubt very greatly that you will see him much.”

_Humans_. Implying that this Dracula wasn’t one. So if he wasn’t human, what the hell was he? Some kind of ancient elf? There were terrifying stories about what the elder races could do in times past, but those were just tales. There was also the Steward herself to consider; she certainly wasn’t an elf. Perhaps her lord was more like her. 

Either way, Henselt didn’t like the implication. Not one little bit. Revulsion warred with wariness. 

He thought for a few moments longer, absently running one finger along his chin. Then he looked to his counselors.

“I would be in favor of such a truce,” Sabrina said. “These are not powers we can or should even try meddling with.”

Interesting words from a sorceress.

“I concur with Sabrina, My Lord,” Glanster added. “This seems a wise deal.”

Prince Merwin simply nodded. While Sabrina and Glanster looked at least marginally composed, Merwin was still white as a ghost. Each and every one of them looked unhappy about the situation though.

“Hmm.” Henselt turned his gaze back to Orlaith, and took another moment to think things through.

For the short term, the offered proposal did seem to be the best option. 

For the long term...perhaps Henselt could still find something or someone who would be willing to rid him of this canker on his lands. But it would take far more planning and effort than he had ready at the moment. 

“Agreed,” he said, settling back into his plush chair. “I will remove my army from your walls, and there will be peace between us.” He flicked his eyes to Vesemir. “And witchers of any school will be marked as protected travelers in the Kingdom of Kaedwen. While I cannot predict or defend them from any random bandit or monster they might encounter out in the dangerous wilds, they will be welcome in my cities and on my roads.”

“Excellent,” Orlaith smiled at him. “That is satisfactory.”

“I do require that you allow me to send an envoy to your Lord, so that we can work out any potential differences and misunderstandings that may occur between our peoples.”

That would be Henselt’s ticket in. An obvious one, but any information would be better than none.

“They would not be allowed in My Lord’s castle.” She turned to Vesemir and raised an eyebrow at him. 

“No. Kaer Morhen is for witchers, not politicians,” Vesemir said with a shake of his head. He looked to Henselt. “Set them up in one of the local towns. Goose Landing is closest, I think. If there’s an issue, a message can be sent and then you can arrange a meeting.”

Henselt ran his tongue over his teeth, but then nodded. He’d have to find another way to get information. Envoy or not, the walls were open. There was a gate, and the witchers at the very least would have to get in an out. Where there was a door, there was a way through. 

He smiled. “So be it. And as a sign of good will, I’ll send you off with a gift.” He raised a hand, sending a few servants out of the tent. “We stumbled across a wounded witcher on our way here. Since your Lord is fond of them, perhaps you’d like to keep this one?”

Truthfully, the wretched creature had no more use for Henselt. He obviously didn’t have any relevant information, and they’d nearly broken him already. But giving him to Orlaith and Vesemir would both earn them a bit of consideration as well as send a warning. It showed that Henselt was willing to work with them, but wouldn’t hesitate to use whatever means at his disposal to get what he wanted. As long as he insisted that they had simply found the witcher, well, then Henselt was just doing them a favor returning a wounded comrade. 

When his servants dragged in what was left of the prisoner, Henselt was extremely disappointed to see that neither Orlaith nor Vesemir reacted to him. He was hoping for a little bit of shock, or maybe some outrage. Something that would give him even just a touch of satisfaction. 

But Orlaith was still the perfect model of polite attentiveness and Vesemir, while a little cold, didn’t have much of any reaction. 

Night gave the unconscious witcher a good sniff, though, and gently grazed those terrifyingly sharp looking teeth over his bruised, bloody body. Then she lifted her head up to look between Orlaith and Vesemir, her ears perked forward hopefully.

“No, you can’t eat him,” Vesemir said.

The beast huffed a little at him, but didn’t seem all that surprised. 

Henselt, on the other hand, was vaguely horrified. What did they feed that thing anyways?

“If you need help with getting this witcher back to your castle, I am more than willing to provide men and horses,” Henselt offered, smiling magnanimously. He very much wanted a peek of what was inside those walls. 

“Generous of you, but there is no need,” the Steward declined. She didn’t even bother looking at the witcher. 

The shadows moved instead.

They boiled up out of the floor in thick tentacles that wrapped around each other until a vaguely humanoid shape was built from the darkness. It had no face, just a set of glowing green eyes that fixed on the back of the Stewards head. She didn’t blink, didn't turn or indicate in any way that she was focusing on what was going on. Instead, she reached for the food spread out on the table in front of her and started picking at the selection of sweets.

The creature behind her nodded and looked to the unconscious, bloody witcher. Henselt admitted that maybe they should have washed him a little before presenting him, but oh well. He’d been interested in intimidation, but now it was clear that such a tactic was a lost cause. The construct of darkness reached out its black arms towards the witcher and picked him up without much visible effort. Night huffed but turned, presenting her side to the construct. There was no gentleness or care when the construct threw the witcher over the demon horse’s back like a sack of potatoes.

“Take him to Kaer Morhen,” the Steward said. She still hadn’t looked at what was going on behind her, perusing the sweets instead.

What was just as interesting was that Vesemir didn’t even blink at the treatment of a fellow witcher. Nor did he seem to notice or care that a shadowy creature had appeared out of Orlaith’s darkness. All in all, he seemed somewhat bored with the whole meeting. That more than anything impressed Henselt. It could be an act, of course, but Vesemir didn’t seem the type to bother. He wasn’t a courtier, he was a warrior. Maybe it was just his age and experience that left him so unfazed. But Henselt had to wonder if it was because this type of power display was normal in Kaer Morhen.

The horse nodded, _nodded_, and the red marks on her hide suddenly glowed brighter. She shifted her weight and tensed, turning in place. Henselt couldn’t quite manage to conceal the small gasp that escaped him when the horse _leaped_. Her powerful legs pushed her into the air in one huge leap. 

Straight at the table. 

Merwin flinched. His chair fell back as he tried to get out of the horse’s path. But Night never reached the table. She disappeared as soon as her clawed hooves left the ground.

“What the hell?” Henselt growled out; his words were rough and low in an attempt to keep the fear out of them. He was a king, dammit all! He would not be intimidated by some showy display of power.

“That was a teleporting horse, My Lord,” Sabrina replied quietly. There was something in her voice, some odd inflection that made Henselt turn to look at her. To his vast surprise, she seemed shaken. He knew, of course, that sorceresses could be intimidated, frightened, and bullied just like any other human. It was another thing entirely to see it in action. It was additionally strange to not be the one doing the intimidation. He found it was a sensation he did not enjoy. Not one bit.

“Pull yourself up,” Henselt commanded Merwin gruffly. By the Gods, the idiot was making them look bad. 

The order earned him a harsh glare, but he was obeyed. 

“I have never tasted this dish,” Orlaith said offhandedly, picking at a flakey honey pastry. 

“Local delicacy,” Vesemir supplied. “Very thin sheets of dough are layered with honey. Sometimes nuts and dried fruits, too. Then it’s all baked in a big gooey sheet. You need a lot of honey to make them, and depending on where the bees harvest, it gives the pastry a different flavor. Sticky, but tasty.”

The completely casual conversation amid all of this magic use made Henselt blink a little.

“Night’s people are the main transport source for those that do not fly or teleport themselves,” Orlaith said. She picked one of the pastries up, and held it delicately between two fingers. The bite she took was very careful and small, and she frowned a bit as she savored it.

“I see.” Henselt shifted uncomfortably in chair, and reached for his drink to cover the movement up. A teleporting warhorse. The possibilities for that were incredible. He tried not to be impressed. After all, he had mages aplenty and teleport was something they used to good effect. 

“Do you like it?” Vesemir asked Orlaith, nodding towards the pastry.

“Yes,” the Steward said. “My Lord doesn’t care for sweets himself, but this is definitely to my taste.”

Something about that statement made Vesemir laugh. “I can’t picture Lord Dracula enjoying candy. Though…” He paused a moment, and then shook his head.

“It could be interesting, this new world,” Orlaith said.

“I am fond of it,” Vesemir stated dryly. 

“New world?” Glanster asked, finally speaking up.

“Yours is not the first realm we have visited. The castle, or parts of it, exist in an untold number of worlds. Denizens of those worlds aren't always aware of it. Moving the city is just a matter of…unmooring from one place and docking in another.”

“So what you are saying is that you might leave here?”

The Steward looked up from the plate of sweets.

“Probably,” she said with a nod. “In a few thousand years maybe.” Then she smiled, gently, and spread her hands. “We only just got here after all.”

As noiselessly as the demon horse teleported out, she was just as silent when she came back. Witcherless and still decorated by the glowing red marks, she fell easily from the air to land primly on the tent floor. Then she danced a little, turning in a tight circle until she was facing the table again.

This time Henselt did not make a sound and Merwin, though he stopped breathing, did not make a spectacle of himself.

“Since you plan to stay here,” Sabrina said suddenly, “you will have to be made aware of the fact these lands are under constant threat.”

Orlaith tilted her head in mild curiosity. “What kingdom is not under constant threat?”

“Some threats are more immediate than others. The Nilfgaardian Empire, for example. I assume your liason here has informed you of their intentions towards the Northern Kingdoms?” Sabrina cast an arch glance at Vesemir. 

“Empire is such a strong word,” the Steward said, reaching for a different plate of sweets. “Our witcher friend explained that there might be an army. Eventually.” 

Henselt gritted his teeth at the implication his forces were not enough to be considered an army.

“You,” Henselt said, “appearing here and annexing parts of my land, importing not only the castle but the very mountains it stands on, might very well break the balance in the Northern kingdoms and cause the Nilfgaardians to attack us all.”

Vesemir hummed at him, slightly raising an eyebrow. “That might be stretching things a bit. Of all the Northern Kingdoms, Kaedwen isn’t even close to the front lines of this particular conflict. You’ve got Temeria to the southwest and Aedirn, Dol Blanthanna, and Lyria directly to the south. The Blue Mountains guard your eastern side and the Dragon mountains your northern one. Redania is on the chopping block first on the west, assuming Nilfgaard gets past their navy.” He leaned forward to grab ahold of his glass of wine and swished the liquid around a bit. “Now, I will grant you, it’s only been the combined forces of the Northern Kingdoms that have held off Nilfgaard so far, but to say that Lord Dracula’s castle siphons a significant portion of your strength and available resources away from the next brewing conflict with the empire is perhaps overstating things.”

“Simply because we do not share a border with Nilfgaard does not mean that they will not drive towards us, now that this city has made itself known,” Henselt countered. “Emhyr is hellbent on taking these lands, and he’s well known for coveting anything of power. He could very well decide that your city is too much of a prize not to plunder.”

“Possible.” Vesemir shrugged, then he gave Henselt a knowing look. “Unlikely. No, what’s more likely is that he will attempt to use your distraction to press other borders. Should the Northern Kingdoms fall, Kaedwen wouldn’t be even close to the first conquered territory. And unless you decide to pursue the folly of attacking Lord Dracula’s city, then there is little here to distract you from defense against Nilfgaard.”

“The Second War was won by very thin margins,” Henselt reminded him. “Anything that tips the balance into Nilfgaard’s favor could spell disaster for all of us.”

Vesemir tilted his head from side to side, as if considering that. Damn, but that old man was hard to press. He seemed to have no care at all for Henselt’s usual intimidation. What was it with witchers that made them so damn emotionless?

“He has a point,” Vesemir said to Orlaith. “Though how much that would affect your city, so far north of where the front lines would be, I’m not sure.”

“How does Nilfgaard treat witchers?” Orlaith asked, perusing yet another plate of food. This seemed to be the only question that got any reaction from the witcher. He seemed surprised she asked at all.

“Poorly,” Vesemir stated. “We are not hunted outright, but we are not allowed in their cities. They look on most nonhumans with disdain, though the elves tend to be respected there. I expect it will only be a matter of time before witchers are outlawed entirely in the south.” He frowned for a moment and bit his lip, his focus shifted internally. “There is another witcher school in Nilfgaard. The Viper School. I have heard ill things of them. Their home keep has been destroyed as well, though I’m unfamiliar with the details. Far more of them exist than what’s left of the Wolf School, though. These are difficult times for them.”

What the Steward thought of this news, Henselt couldn’t tell. She seemed interested in the witchers but at the same time didn’t express much concern over them. It was as if they were rare and interesting creatures that caught her fancy and she was willing to create a reservation where she could observe them.

“So,” the Steward said. She shifted back in her chair, gently placed her hands on the armrests, and looked at Henselt. The demon horse turned her head and sniffed at the Steward’s pale, thin hands. The image of those huge fangs so close to such vulnerable flesh was more than a little disturbing. “You would like to have our forces under your command.” She seemed amused for some strange reason. Even the horse made a huffing, chortling sound that sounded remarkably like laughter.

“Your Majesty.” Vesemir turned to Henselt. “If I may explain some things about the denizens of the castle I have seen so far. They all feed on humans in some shape or form. Be it meat, souls, energy, or dreams, for them humans are merely food. Inside the castle, I have been told, the troops gain their nourishment from their Lord. I would advise against mixing humans and those troops together.”

“Good God,” Glanster whispered, the horror evident in his voice.

“I’m afraid not,” Orlaith said with a smirk. “Your good gods have no jurisdiction over our castle.”

“There is just one god!” Glanster snapped, his feverish belief kicking in again at an unfortunate time. Henselt held back a long suffering sigh.

“So where is He?” The Steward asked, raising her eyebrows.

Vesemir looked at Henselt. “Another note. If you do end up meeting Lord Dracula, you may wish to keep religious discussion to a minimum.” He nodded his head towards Glanster. “Just a suggestion.”

“Why would you offer that advice? You’re here standing with them.” Henselt frowned.

“I’m here as a mediator, to help translate difficulties for both sides,” Vesemir corrected mildly. “Which means if I see you about to make a blunder, I’ll say something. Just as I will explain the intricacies of your politics to Steward Orlaith. Which is why I’m warning you not to push for mixing troops with Lord Dracula’s forces.”

Henselt wasn’t sure that he believed it. For a moment he weighed what he knew.

“You are clearly gaining more from being on the stranger’s side,” Henselt said, aiming to provoke the old witcher.

“Your and other rulers' hospitality has already been proven tonight,” Vesemir said blandly. “You can not fault me for looking at other options.”

“You would betray humans? The very people you protect?”

“Nothing about my Path has changed. We Wolf witchers still fight and sell our swords. Lord Dracula has never once even insinuated that we should not do so.” Vesemir raised an eyebrow at Henselt, leaving unsaid the fact that witchers were just as often chased out of towns and hunted for what they were than paid and welcomed back.

“And yet your keep is surrounded by monsters who feed on humans,” Henselt said, pressing the issue.

“The irony burns, doesn’t it?” Vesemir’s voice held nothing but resignation and dry amusement. “But as I said, all of the inhabitants of Lord Dracula’s castle gain nourishment from him. They are not a threat to my other neighbors.” He shrugged indifferently and sipped his wine.

Again, Henselt’s line of attack was stymied. It seemed the stories were true about witchers. Heartless and cold, all of them. 

“Why are you so concerned by the fate of witchers?” he asked Orlaith, who hadn’t made a sound but watched the conversation with interest.

“They are very nice to look at,” the Steward said blandly, again reaching for the plate of sweets.

Vesemir choked on his drink. The look he gave Orlaith was half shocked, half exasperated.

She merely focused on picking out another delicacy from the tray and refused to acknowledge him in any way.

Before Henselt could even say anything about that, Sabrina spoke up.

“Mmm. I don’t blame you one bit.” She cast an appreciative eye over Vesemir. “There’s a reason sorceresses tend to make friends with witchers. They are very easy on the eyes. And so useful, too.”

That earned her an unimpressed look from Vesemir. Henselt, on the other hand, just rubbed his eyes. The hell had his bloody war council devolved into? 

“Useful?” Orlaith asked, sounding puzzled. “What would I need a witcher for that I couldn’t do myself?”

“Sorceresses like to delegate,” Vesemir said dryly. “I tend to avoid such entanglements, myself.”

“Pity,” Sabrina said with a smirk. 

Henselt could see how the witcher tried to keep his composure, but something in the way he shifted made Henselt think the obvious flirting was getting to him. Quite frankly, it was already irritating Henselt to no end. He cast an annoyed look to Sabrina, but she simply smiled back at him, unrepentant. 

“If we could go back to the matters at hand, please.” Vesemir sounded painfully even, refusing to show if the discussion about his charms affected him in any way.

“Indeed, let’s.” Henselt took a deep drink of wine. _Bloody women, making a mockery of serious discussions._

“I find the issue of witcher attractiveness much more serious than this or that world order. After all, I can as easily negotiate safe passage for witchers out of the dreaded Nilfgaardians,” Orlaith said mildly.

Vesemir tapped a finger on his glass and hummed for a moment. “It will take years of bloodshed to get to that negotiation.”

Orlaith smiled, for the first time. It transformed her face, making her look younger and prettier.

“Bloodshed, yes.” She nodded. “Years? No.”

“How many of my brothers will fall before that happens?”

The smile faded from Orlaith face and her obvious aura of pleasure melting away. Henselt realized that Orlaith _wanted_ the bloodshed. She wanted the war. Wanted the chance to show off her power. Something else had brought her to the negotiation table. One of those things seemed Vesemir’s dislike of senseless bloodshed.

“Steward Orlaith, no one here questions you or your Lord’s power and abilities,” Vesemir said. He paused to lick his lips. “If it’s bloodshed you want, you will be able to find it in abundance. All us witchers want is to be able to walk our Path, and wars inevitably disrupt that. We’re too good of warriors to go unpursued during those times, for a variety of reasons.” He shrugged. “Once I measured my family in scores, and counted my time in generations. Now I must see to only a small handful, where even the loss of one is a great cost. My view will be much shorter than yours. I know the eventual fall of the Northern Kingdoms is a blink of an eye to you.” He smiled ruefully at her then. “I cannot afford to take the long view.”

“There’s so few of you left,” she murmured, leaning back in her chair. “Fine. What do you suggest then?”

Henselt did not expect that from Vesemir. With such a powerful protector, Henselt expected the witcher to try and get as much as he could. The way he turned the tide of this conversation around seemed to at least somewhat prove his words about not holding sides.

“You’re asking my opinion?” Vesemir looked slightly surprised.

“Yes.” Orlaith nodded. “If my goal was to just kill everyone, I would not come to talk with the humans at all.”

He nodded and furrowed his brow in thought. “King Henselt is not wrong that there is danger from Nilfgaard. The Northern Kingdoms need every scrap of help they can get. But getting your people embroiled in casual conflict will only end badly, and likely defeat the purpose of such an agreement.” There was a pause as Vesemir stared at the table, clearly thinking the situation through. As much as Henselt wanted to interrupt, now was very much not the time. It was obvious that the witcher was at least somewhat in favor of Henselt’s goals, and disrupting that process would only end in a loss for Henselt. 

“My suggestion is you extend an offer of non-specific aid to Kaedwen and the Northern Kingdoms _only_ in the case of war with Nilfgaard. This will allow you to tailor your involvement to the specific situation, and reduce the chance of allied forces causing disruption with your own. And, honestly, this gives Lord Dracula the option to personally go lay waste to an army of humans if he feels the need.” Vesemir shrugged. “Or he can delegate. Hard to tell which he’d prefer.”

“He’s mostly been in a good mood recently. It is hard to say what he will do now, after the incident.” 

Henselt did not like the sound of _that_ at all. What incident?

“King Henselt.” Orlaith turned to him directly for the first time in a long while. “I will offer my troops as the way to drive off Nilfgaardian forces. You will have to deal with the consequences of that, mind you.” She looked him straight in the eye. “We will help, but should you or any of the other kingdoms turn against a single soldier of my troops, we will wage war on all of you.” She paused for a moment, clearly thinking. “You will send out the missives, to all other kingdoms bordering Nilfgaard in the north. My help for the witchers' safe passage through all their lands. They will know they are part of this agreement too.”

There was a terrifying intensity to her gaze. A burning weight that seemed to sear him right down to the soul. Henselt scrambled to think it through. He had no control over what other kingdoms decreed about witchers or not, but the offer of an additional army to stop the advance of Nilfgaard was far too good to pass up. Though he knew that they were occasionally harassed, none of the Northern Kingdoms had specific laws against witchers. At least as far as he knew. It shouldn’t be too much of a hassle to get the other rulers to agree, though it may take a little time.

“How long will the deal last?” Prince Merwin asked, leaning forward.

“As long as there are witchers alive.” Orlaith paused. “And as long as Nilfgaard exists as well.”

“How will we know your troops?” Henselt’s throat was as dry as a desert.

“They will wear my Lord’s livery; a red field with a black dragon upon it. You will recognize them for what they are. Do you agree to the terms?” Orlaith asked, never taking her eyes off of him. For some reason, the room felt a little colder right then, though there wasn’t even a hint of a breeze. Absently, he thought the magical braziers might not be working right. Or the lights, either, because the tent around them seemed a bit dim, too. But Orlaith was in perfect relief in front of him, and her eyes shone like gems.

“Your Majesty, I really don’t think---” Sabrina said softly next to him.

“Yes,” he said, feeling the potential this deal could give him. Kaedwen was a country everybody respected because of the mages they had in abundance, but being the one to secure additional and plentiful forces in their fight with Nilfgaard was a feat no other ruler managed. Everyone would know that it was his achievement and his alone. This had the potential to change the balance of power in the whole of Northern Kingdoms.

There was a strange sensation, or maybe a sound, like a lock snapping closed. Henself could feel it against his skin. By the way everyone else at the table flinched, so could they. Even Vesemir and that demon horse twitched violently. Orlaith was the only one that stayed unmoved.

“Sabrina,” Henselt growled, turning to look at the pale sorceress.

“You just made a deal,” she said, her voice shaking. “And you dragged us all into the soul contract with you!”

“Soul contract?” He looked between Sabrina’s terrified face and Orlaith’s pleased one. “What do you mean?”

“It means the contract will be held valid for you and all your descendants,” Orlaith explained. “It’s the intent that matters, not the turn of word. It can not be manipulated or changed, there are no turns of phrase that can be misinterpreted. And should any side try and turn their backs on the deal, they and their very soul shall be dragged to the pits of Hell and tortured there for eternity. Right now, you or your chosen envoy are the only ones who can call upon my aid. If the other rulers wish to gain that privilege, they will need to deal with me.” Orlaith looked to Sabrina. “The mages should be able to sense the mark on us both already.”

A quick glance to Sabrina’s pale face proved that statement to be true. The sorceress was staring at him as if he was death incarnate.

“I think this is all we need to discuss,” Orlaith said, turning to Vesemir. 

The witcher looked a little shocked as well. Henselt wondered if the deal was also weighing down on his soul. He would have thought this was just a folly, trickery, if not for the fact he could _feel_ the mark, heavy and present just under his ribs.

“It’s been a pleasure, Your Majesty,” Orlaith said, standing up. Something in her voice told Henselt that she felt the experience was anything but enjoyable. That was fine. He didn’t much care for it either. 

Vesemir followed suit, standing up as well, and the rest of Henselt’s councilors did the same. 

Orlaith and Vesemir both nodded to Henselt and his councilors. Then they walked out, with the massive demon horse trailing behind. 

Silence fell over the tent after they left. The space got a little bit brighter, too, and warmer as well. Henselt realized that Orlaith’s shadow had affected them even there, dampening the comforting effects of their heating and light spells. 

Henselt ran a hand over his face and leaned his elbow on the table. 

Great Good Gods, what the _hell_ had moved into his land?

And how soon could he get them out?

\---

Vesemir guided his horse through the darkness, keeping pace with Night. Thankfully his beast was of the steady kind, not shying away from the demon horse despite her teeth, claws, and the fact that she dwarfed his horse by half. Familiarity likely helped with that; Night had been a near--constant presence for several days now.

He was grateful for the quiet time to reflect. While that negotiation had gone better than he could have hoped, he was more than a little disturbed by the whole thing. Vesemir knew that Orlaith would bargain to please Dracula’s interests, and keeping Geralt safe no matter where he roamed was at the top of that list. He didn’t expect for her to show so much personal investment towards that goal. Nor did he anticipate the bizarre, almost flirtatious tone that took over for a short while. 

He was also surprised by the lengths she was willing to go to secure safety for witchers. He could feel just how powerful that contract was. The scope of it was incredible; the fact his own life was one of the conditions meant he could feel the echo of it on his very soul. He couldn’t even imagine how it must feel for Henselt. Like a huge boulder on his chest maybe.

He did worry about the other kingdoms. Getting any group of people to agree to one thing was tricky, and getting a group of rulers to agree even more so. Henselt had a vested interest in making it happen, and the other kingdoms all would benefit from Orlaith’s aid. Ostensibly, anyways. Keeping a demon army on the march happy and in line would be no mean feat. 

But that caveat. If even one of Orlaith’s troops is attacked by anyone, it would mean war on all of them. The potential for danger and disaster was incredible. Damn Henselt for being such a hothead, jumping into things without thinking them through.

He had to wonder how Henselt was going to approach the other kingdoms. No doubt the other rulers felt the shadows of this deal. Or at least their court mages would.

Another terrifying thought occurred to him. The Nilfgaardians worshiped a sun god, though that church was as much a political tool for the emperor as anything else. Right now the war in the north was driven by Emhyr’s desire to own all of the Northern Kingdoms. But once it became general knowledge that the northern armies had made pacts with demons, it could turn a simple land grab into a holy war.

Vesemir stifled a groan. This was why he hated politics. He also didn’t dare think what Dracula would do at a mention of holy war. What had been said about his past led Vesemir to believe that Dracula could be way too eager to take part in that.

“You didn’t say,” Orlaith said suddenly. “Did you like my gift?”

That made him raise his eyebrows in surprise. 

Her deal was a _gift_. 

In that context, the negotiations made a little more sense. 

“I do,” he said after a moment. “I’m in awe of the scope, actually. And a little confused why you would give it.” He looked up at her, trying to gauge her reaction.

“Hmm. At least you are pretty.” She sounded thoughtful.

Vesemir blinked, a little nonplussed. “I cannot say that anyone has ever called me such.”

“No wonder my Lord has such low opinion of humans, though that witch seemed to at least somewhat agree with me. Maybe witches are smarter than regular humans. Hmmm.”

Heat prickled across Vesemir’s cheeks. Him, blushing. At his age? Ridiculous. But it was obvious that Orlaith was being sincere. What, exactly, he was to do with her compliments on his looks, he really didn’t know. 

Maybe better to veer away from that. 

“Sorceresses are fond of power and control, and who doesn’t like to have powerful tools?” He shrugged. 

“Really?” Orlaith perked up, turning to him suddenly with a hopeful expression on her face. “Are they part demon?”

“Not to my knowledge. Ciri is a sorceress though. Would you be able to sense demonic heritage on her?”

“There’s none.” Orlaith sounded incredibly disappointed. Then she seemed to shake it off. “At least it explains the appalling lack of taste humanity here displays.”

“Lack of taste.” It wasn’t quite a question. Vesemir wasn’t certain that he wanted to know the answer.

“Yes.” Orlaith nodded, shifting atop Nights back. “In pleasure partners.” She touched a finger to her lips and kept speaking as she glanced over at him. “I mean, I understand humans do it differently than demons. I have watched the succubi enough to learn all the different ways. But still. No taste at all.” She shook her head.

“If you’re speaking of witchers, humans are very fond of us when sex is involved---” 

“Sex!” Orlaith pointed her finger at Vesemir, interrupting him mid-word. “Thank you. I forgot the term.”

This conversation was taking a worrying turn. 

“They just also fear that which is different,” Vesemir continued doggedly. “And witchers are by nature Other. More often than not witchers are taken for a good ride and then escorted to the gates.”

Orlaith’s lips twisted down.

“I don’t understand.” She blinked at him. “Otherness is very exciting. I still remember when my Lord brought the abyssal kraken into the old Bernhard wing.” She smiled, her eyes softening. “That was amazing. Did you know he can occupy two realities at once? Amazing.”

Vesemir made a mental note to warn Geralt and Eskel about the Bernhard wing of the castle. 

“I was not aware of that. I’m afraid I have never encountered such a creature. That is most impressive though.” How to explain this to her? Dracula had once been human, so he at least had a frame of reference. But it seemed Orlaith didn’t have even that. “From what I’ve gathered, humans tend to value different things than demons. Most of them, anyways.”

“I don’t know. Demons _want_. They want with all their being. Unlike humans, they don't ever pretend otherwise. Hunger seems pretty common across the species.” She shrugged. “Your techniques are different”---she looked down at her body---“and equipment.” She sighed. “But I’m slowly mastering the latter.”

“You are very graceful,” Vesemir pointed out. “Many humans I know never gain such grace and control over themselves.” 

It was true, too. Orlaith was polished in a way that Vesemir had only seen in the most powerful of courtiers. Or perhaps very devout and highly placed clergy.

“Thank you.” She inclined her head towards him. “My Lord gave me the shape more familiar to him.” She tilted her head in thought. “I think he still finds more beauty in human shapes than demon shapes.”

Vesemir hummed noncommittally. Dracula did seem to have a thing for beauty. “I do not know him well, but he does seem to enjoy beauty in general. Though, humanoid or not, he seems to tend towards dangerous beauty.” 

That would certainly explain Geralt and Alucard. Though maybe Dracula just really liked gold eyes.

“As much as he tends towards the human shape, his view is no longer that of a humans. He sees beings for what they are, sees what they have the potential to be and everything they once were. He sees the purity in them and that attracts him.” She smiled gently, understandingly at him. “There is no purity in demons. We are too easily corrupted.”

Vesemir wasn’t quite sure what to say to that. “Witchers are very focused,” he said after a moment. “It’s part of how we’re trained. While that’s critical for fighting, it can sometimes cause other issues.”

Orlaith actually stopped Night and turned towards him, her eyebrows slightly raised.

He reigned in his own beast and looked up at her. “What?”

“Focused?” She said. “You call that _focused_?”

Mystified, Vesemir quirked his eyebrows at her. All of a sudden he wasn’t quite sure they were talking about the same thing. “Yes?”

Orlaith watched him for a long moment.

“How long do witchers live naturally?” she finally asked.

“Provided they don’t die on the Path?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe 800 years, but I have never heard of a witcher coming close to that.”

"Good,” she said with a nod. “We might need all of those years at this rate.”

He thought that statement through, and then considered her gift. 

“...Orlaith, are you courting me?” he asked. Plain words always worked better for him. Maybe they would help here.

She blinked at him, just once, and smiled gently.

“Of course. I have assessed you, your physical and mental abilities as well as your housekeeping skills, and found all to my liking.” Then she frowned. “You are a bit young, but I hope age difference won't be a problem.”

He blinked in shock. “Really courting? For a permanent partner, not just a pleasurable time?”

“If I wanted only pleasure, the kraken is still in Bernhard's wing. I have deemed you a more pleasing choice.”

For the moment, Vesemir pushed aside the thought that he rated better than a kraken.

“I’m mortal,” he reminded her gently. “And though I am far younger than you, I am nearly halfway through my natural lifespan. Any time I could spend with you would only be an eyeblink for you.”

She smiled, again with that understanding, gentle smile.

“That can be fixed.” She waved her hand at him as if the issue of his mortality wasn’t even worth discussing.

Night made that chortling sound that Vesemir damn well knew meant laughter, and started slowly moving again. Vesemir’s horse started moving too, driven by the herd instinct. Vesemir didn’t bother to try and control it; his mind was still busy with Orlaith’s casual declarations.

“It’s been centuries since I considered a permanent attachment such as this,” he admitted quietly.

“So, not that long ago, right?” She said the words blandly, but by now Vesemir learned to see the signs of amusement in her eyes.

“It has been so long that I nearly don’t remember what it’s even like,” he said with equal amusement. “And that fine lady cut me loose specifically because I am a witcher. Though that’s clearly no issue for you.”

“Should I look into human courtship rituals?” she asked. “I don’t think you would enjoy demon courtship, though...” She trailed off, frowning. “My Lord manages to somehow combine the two and come up victorious most of the time.”

That was far more information than Vesemir ever wanted to know about what Dracula did with his lovers. But maybe at this point he really should ask.

“I’m rusty myself.” A thousand possibilities swirled in his head. “Perhaps we could discuss a proposed idea first? To see if it would be acceptable to the other?” He looked at her out of the side of his eye, nervous for the first time in ages.

Orlaith nodded. Her black hair had already lightened to a dark brown. Vesemir expected it would be back to pale blond by the time they reached Kaer Morhen.

“I would be very pleased to take part in your rituals.”

“And if at some point, one or both of us finds the courtship isn’t worth pursuing further? What then? I’m uninterested in compromising the safety and health of that which I oversee just for the sake of personal desire.” That had to be mentioned upfront, too. Vesemir cared too much for his boys and his keep to put them at risk.

“No dark thing in the castle can hurt you or yours,” she said. “And I am undeniably of the dark.”

“True, but you are powerful and intelligent. Your anger would be a fearsome thing, and could have far reaching consequences.” As the Nilfgaardians would no doubt find out at some point. 

She shook her head.

“My Lord’s orders are absolute. He granted you safety and so it shall be.”

That did bring up another good point. 

“Why is Dracula so invested in getting me...involved with someone. First Eyra and Iga. Then Ian. And he was very pleased to assume that you and I were already involved. Why?”

“My Lord is very generous,” Orlaith said. “And his love is as absolute as his orders.”

Vesemir narrowed his eyes. “So you’re saying because he loves Geralt, and Geralt cares for me, then he wants to make sure I’m getting laid, too?”

She tilted her head and looked at him with unreadable eyes.

“It’s not like you witchers have a list of desires a mile long to pick and choose from.” She spread her hands gently. “Physical pleasure is the one thing most of you don’t deny yourself.”

For the life of him, Vesemir had never considered witchers to be so hard to please. 

“If gold or lands would make you happy, he would have given you those. If it was power you desired, that’s even easier for him to grant. If you desired youth and long life, that is also something that can be given in but a moment.” She smiled at him, just the corners of her lips turning up. “Yet none of those things interest you.”

“What more do we need than our swords and our Path,” Vesemir said absently, still thinking of the truth of her words. “How tiresome other humans must seem to him, with how they chase all of those things. Wealth, power, youth. It tires me just thinking about it.”

“My Lord, unlike the gods of before, was human first. It makes for…interesting changes.”

“I’m sure it does.” Vesemir looked to her, and hoped some of his seriousness would be evident in his words. “Are you obliged to court me? Are you doing this, even only in part, to please your Lord?”

“That is…a difficult question for me.” Night stopped again, without any gesture from Orlaith. He watched her lower her head and start sniffing at a withered bunch of grass. She looked like she was trying hard not to look as if she was listening. 

“The very nature of our bond, means I am in many ways an extension of My Lord’s will. It is not a question of loyalty, you see. He needed me to bind the castle to himself, and to do that my whole being had to be…rewritten, so to say. I have not been ordered to court you, such orders are beneath my station. But I have been changed. My Lord’s affection for human shape and his new lovers probably affected me, too.” Orlaith looked up at the starry sky above them. “I don’t think much about it. I am bound so deeply to My Lord that I will exist as long as he exists, and I will perish should he ever perish. Besides...” she looked down to Vesmir again. “This whole adventure seems quite exciting.”

“I see.”

Vesemir mulled that over for a few minutes. The sky was lovely above them. The lights from Dracula’s city didn’t diminish the stars glow not one bit. Though a cold wind had blown through the army encampment, it was calm and peaceful where they stood in the woods. 

“I am honored by your interest, Lady Orlaith. And…” 

He licked his lips. Butterflies fluttered in his stomach. In many ways, Orlaith suited Vesemir far better than the succubi or the lone incubus. They had only had brief interactions so far, but he liked her elegance. Her dry humor. She was beautiful, it was true, but he knew very well that a partnership was made up of more things than just cosmetic appearance. 

Part of the reason that Vesemir had been holding out against the sex demons so resolutely was that demons in his experience were incapable of acting beyond their own self interest. As pleasant as spending a few nights with Iga or Eyra would have been, Vesemir would always know that he was really just a meal for them. 

But Orlaith had said herself; she’d been changed. She was bound to the task of caring for her home above and beyond any other drive, and she had taken on some of Dracula’s attitudes as well. How much, even she didn’t know. 

From observation, Vesemir knew damn well that Dracula was capable of love beyond himself. The castle all around them proved it. 

If Dracula was able to love so selflessly, perhaps Orlaith was more than what she appeared to be as well. 

Even stranger to consider was the fact that Vesemir was excited to find out. 

He took a breath. “And I find I would be very pleased for the opportunity to get to know you better. I...can’t guarantee the outcome of our courtship, but I’m game to try.”

“I find myself eager to play,” Orlaith said. “Would you care for a race back to Kaer Morhen?”

Vesemir laughed. Then he looked at his steady and absolutely average beast.

“I fear my horse is not fit for that.”

“That is easily fixed,” Orlaith said, and looked over his shoulder.

Vesemir heard a thump and huff. When he looked back he saw a powerful stallion standing there staring at him; it was chestnut brown with glowing blue marks just now fading away and fangs as long as Night's. It’s eyes shone with cold blue light. 

It tossed its head and trotted closer to him, sandwiching him between Night and itself. Vesemir felt as if he was riding a pony between those powerful creatures.

Night stretched her nose towards the newcomer, sniffing at it and making soft growly sounds.

“No teleporting?” Vesemir shouldn’t indulge in this. It was folly, nothing but a waste of time. But he had to admit, if only to himself, that he really wanted to see how fast such a beast could go. He was a practical man at heart, but it didn't change the fact he felt a certain envy at the quality of mounts Dracula had available.

“No teleporting. And I will make sure your horse makes it safely back to Kaer Morhen,” Orlaith said. 

As she spoke, her fancy dress melted into a fur-lined tunic and tan breeches. Her thin body was tilted back just slightly; Vesemir could tell that she was shifting to change her seat from the ladylike side saddle into something more befitting a horse race through a dark forest.

The new demon horse came closer and nudged Vesemir’s leg with its head, the teeth barely grazing his boot. It huffed at him impatiently.

“Yes,” Vesemir said, oddly affected by the pleased sparkle in her green eyes. “That sounds like fun.”

Just as he suspected, Orlaith shifted her seat, straddling Night’s back and tangling her hands into the shiny black mane.

Night snorted, prancing under her impatiently. She was obviously as eager for the race as her rider was.

Vesemir jumped down from his horse and slapped her rump, telling her to go home. They were close enough his horse would find the way home easily, and he was doubly reassured that Orlaith would make sure of it.

He turned to his new mount and put his hand on the chestnut’s back. The beast was a stallion, a rival for Night in every way. Vesemir could feel the life, the _energy_ thrumming just under his hand.

“How do I guide him?” There were no leads, no harness at all.

“Will you trust me?” Orlaith asked, extending her hand to Vesemir’s face. She had very thin, fragile looking hands. She paused just before she touched him though, waiting for his answer.

“Go ahead.” Might as well. He was already so deep down the rabbit hole that it was no use pretending otherwise.

She touched his forehead. Just the barest brush of fingertips against his skin. He felt something pass from her, a shiver of sensation that spread under his skin. Something clicked and opened inside him, as if another sense came suddenly to life.

_Hello!_ The voice that suddenly echoed in Vesemir’s head was young and male, and very eager. _Are you a good rider?_

“You think at him,” Orlaith said, straightening atop her own ride. She patted Night’s neck. “We won’t go easy on you so you better treat this seriously.” 

Night gave a snort, and a quiet echo of another female voice was suddenly in Vesemir’s head as well. _Bring it on!_

“My name is Vesemir,” he introduced himself to his mount and looked at Orlaith. “And I’m a _very_ good rider.”

“Night, I think this is a challenge,” Orlaith said, never taking her eyes off Vesemir.

_My name is Blue Streak, and I’m the fastest runner in my clan._ The stallion tossed his head at Night, very clearly challenging her. _I always win_.

Vesemir found himself grinning. He grabbed Blue Streak’s mane and hauled himself up onto his back. It was rush, feeling all that power under him. Like the one time he rode Night, he could feel the barely contained energy in the beast. Blue Streak danced under him, letting them both get used to each other before he trotted around to stand side by side with Orlaith and Night.

“Start on my mark?” Orlaith said, lowering herself to shift her center of gravity closer to the horse.

“Just so you know,” Vesemir said, shifting his position, “witchers are trained to win.”

She laughed, her voice soft and joyous.

“Three, two, one, go!” 

As soon as the words were out, both horses were off. Their clawed feet meant Blue Streak and Night accelerated at a ratio no ordinary horse was capable of.

The first leap had Vesemir and Blue Streak ahead by half a head. The stallion went from standing still to full on, breakneck gallop within just one bound. Night was slower at the start but was faster on the turns, taking the first one so tightly she all but tilted parallel to the ground, with Orlaith sticking close to her back. 

What Night had in power, Blue Streak matched in speed. Orlaith was far more familiar with her mount than Vesemir was with his, but Vesemir had been riding on The Killer for centuries. He knew every tree and twist this trail had better than any other path in the world. 

They rode neck and neck for the full length of the ride. The moment one got the advantage, the other quickly closed the gap. It was exhilarating. Riding Blue Streak was a joy, and sharing that with another rider, someone could could keep up and challenge him on top of that was beyond exciting. He could feel Blue Streak, a presence inside himself. 

They were one being almost. The demon horse reacted to Vesemir’s thoughts before he even fully formed them and Vesemir could feel the effort Blue Streak was making. He could feel it when his mount still had some power left to add on the turns. The joy Blue Streak felt at the chance of winning and the exhilaration of a challenge well met.

Far, far too soon, Night and Blue Streak’s clawed feet thundered over the bridge. They slowed to a dancing stop just inside the courtyard, and Vesemir found himself laughing from the sheer fun of it. A lightness buoyed up in his chest and he thrilled in seeing the same mirth sparkle in Orlaith’s eyes. 

Night and Blue Streak circled each other for a moment, sidling up so that Vesemir and Orlaith were knee to knee. Blue Streak tossed his mane and arched his neck, side eyeing Night, and she snorted and sniffed at him in return.

“I think we are tied, my lady,” he said, still grinning.

“I think that if you had ever ridden one of the Mara before, you would have bested me.” Orlaith’s voice was still a little breathy from laughter, her face no longer so pale but rather flushed with the wind and the exertion.

“It also helped that I am well familiar with this land. I’m sure if we raced at any other spot in the castle, you would have easily gotten the better of me.” Vesemir’s face hurt with how much he was grinning.

Despite the rest of the week, the anxiety that had plagued him, and the frustration of dealing with Dracula’s whims, Vesemir thought that this one moment in time might be perfect. 

He held out his hand to Orlaith.

“May I tempt you to join me for a drink? My kitchen is homely, but it is warm and there are blankets to chase off the winter’s chill.”

Her smile warmed, lips curling up at the edges and her sparkling eyes crinkling with pleasure. She placed her hand in his and squeezed it. 

“I would very much enjoy that.”

\---


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes from Quarra: This month is going...about how I expected it to go. But here we are, another chapter! Enjoy!

Vernon Roche wiped his hands clean, polishing the last little bit of blood off of his knuckles. He’d have some under his nails for a while yet, but he didn’t feel like scrubbing it out right that moment. He tossed the filthy rag onto the table he was seated at and grabbed his mug of ale. 

_This fucking day_, he thought with irritation. 

When Thaler had sent him and his unit of Blue Stripes out to go interrogate Lockhart Krizkirt, he was excited for the job. Krizkirt had been dealing on both sides of the river since the second war ended, and that backstabbing bastard had made a fortune off of it. As far as Roche could figure, Krizkirt had been left mostly unmolested by various intelligence groups because he was too useful a tool to burn. Having a reliable way to get anything over the Yaruga River and into and out of Nilfgaard was exceptionally handy. Everyone knew it too. So Krizkirt had gotten away with far more than he ever should have. The opportunity to lay the hammer down on that piece of shit was a sweet one.

But the bastard was canny as hell, and paranoid to boot. It had taken more blood and struggle than Roche had expected to breach the man’s private holdings. 

First there was the matter of finding it. Then there were the guards and traps and a fucking pet manticore. They’d managed to lure the fucking beast away with bodies of some of Krizkirt’s guards, but it still cost valuable time. So much that Krizkirt had almost escaped.

Almost.

In the end, Roche and his team chased him down and smuggled him away to a safe house they’d set up earlier. A nice empty farmhouse a few hours' ride out of Dillingen, a border city along the Yaruga River and one of the main locations for Krizkirt’s operations. Close enough to be useful, but far enough away that no one would hear any screams. Perfect for spending some quality time to get to know the man. 

But so far Roche’s interrogation had brought up far less information than he’d hoped for. Far, far less. 

“Anything new?” Ves said, sitting down at the kitchen table with a thump. Ves was Roche’s lieutenant, and despite her lovely appearance she was a wickedly deadly marksman. She wouldn't have made it into the Blue Stripes if she wasn’t able to keep up with the rest of them, looks or not. 

Roche couldn’t have been more different from her, appearance-wise. He was rough and large, where she was lithe and polished. He had dark, wiry hair, cut off haphazardly whenever it started to irritate him. She had short, beautifully trimmed platinum locks, straight and sharp looking. His weapon of choice was a war mace, and hers was anything she could fire at range. 

Despite all outward differences, they got along very well. Roche was lucky to have her in his unit and they all knew it. 

“Just the same old story,” he growled, and took a drink. The ale wasn’t great, but it was serviceable. Good enough to wet his throat. “We’ve got a name, but you know damn well it’s a fake.” 

“What tipped this off, anyways? Krizkirt has been doing his black market dealings for years and no one cared enough to stop him. Why send us now?” Ves leaned back in her chair and propped her feet up on the old wooden table. 

“That burning fucking wasteland that’s now just north of us, is what.” He hadn’t been there to see it himself, yet, but Roche had heard the stories. The sheer devastation that had been described to him was mind boggling. Whatever the fuck caused that, it was a major attack. 

“You think he smuggled a weapon in?”

That was a good theory, and one that would make sense if Roche didn’t already know other details. He almost wished it were true. Krizkirt smuggling in a weapon, maybe a bomb or something, from Nilfgaard, and it just going off? That would be a neat wrap up. 

But Roche knew better. The Order of the Flaming Rose was involved with this. It was still a coin flip about whether or not they caused the whole damn mess, but given that so fucking many of them were all dead now, Roche had to assume that they had. Those useless twats were always fucking around with shit they couldn’t handle. 

He sighed and took another drink. “Nope. ‘Fraid it’s more annoying than that. Someone hired Krizkirt who hired several someones who egged on the Flaming Rose idiots, and now there’s nothing but bare scorched earth and a pile of questions left.”

Thaler had also mentioned that witchers were involved somehow. Krizkirt specifically had been working to spread hate about them. About nonhumans in general, but also witchers in particular. Roche had to wonder if Geralt of Rivia was involved. He often worked for King Foltest, and he and Roche had worked together a time or two in the past. 

Whatever Krizkirt was doing, whoever had hired him for it, this was clearly some kind of cat’s paw. 

But to what end? 

Was it Temeria-as-a-whole that was under attack here? Widespread destruction and destabilization only benefited Temeria’s enemies. But this plan had so many layers, so many points of failure. It was just as reasonable to assume that this was some other type of grudge match that had gotten out of hand. Gods knew that Geralt collected enemies like a magpie picked up broken glass. Or Geralt could have nothing to do with it, and this could be an attack on nonhumans in general. The destruction was awfully close to Brokilon, after all.

There were a lot of possibilities, and so far Krizkirt had not been as forthcoming with narrowing them down as Roche would have liked.

“Do you think that had anything to do with the Black Dragon from Novigrad?” Ves asked. “They have the Order there, too.”

The truth was, Roche had to wonder. If the reports were right, there were similar levels of destruction. “There were no sightings of a dragon flying anywhere over Temeria…” 

“But that doesn’t mean that one wasn’t there. Especially since everything in that area is dead now,” Ves finished for him. 

“And now something else is happening up north in Kaedwen, too.” He shook his head. “When I got into intelligence, I’d hoped that it would mean I’d have more answers. Not just fucking endlessly more questions.”

“What makes you so sure that this name he gave up is fake?” Ves asked after a moment.

“Because it’s one I’ve heard of before, and it’s a ghost story.” He snorted. “Or a spy story, really. Krizkirt was hired by Centher.”

Centher was one of those words that got tossed around from time to time between operatives. Of those few that had heard the name, most thought it referred to an organization. Nilfgaard’s offensive spycraft arm, stretching out over the Northern Kingdoms. 

But Roche knew more than most; he was King Foltest’s hidden blade, and Thaler shared his musings abundantly with him. Centher was a single person, and so far one that had eluded every form of capture. Or even identification beyond that moniker. They had no physical description, no personal history, and no clue as to what other skills or trades Centher might possess. 

They only knew that when incidents happened, somehow the name Centher popped up. Pulling. Tugging. Gently manipulating situations, often to ends so convoluted that even Roche had trouble untangling them.

Ves winced. “Boss is gonna be pissed.”

“Maybe,” Roche said quietly. “Krizkirt did have a description, which is more than most.”

“Could be a dodge. Someone hired, or a trained operative.”

“Possible, but even that’s a step closer. And at least we know it’s Nilfgaard that’s pulling the strings.”

Ves ran a finger across one of the silver buttons on her blue armored jacket, tracing the round studded pattern on the metal. “You think Emhyr ordered this?”

“In general? Yes. Specifically? Who knows.” 

What Roche didn’t say was that Emhyr may or may not have a good reason to get rid of Geralt personally. 

_Ciri_.

It was a very little known fact that Ciri was actually Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, Princess of Cintra, and Emperor Emhyr’s daughter. 

Yet as long as Geralt was alive, her loyalty was to him and only to him. It must sting something fierce, that a lowborn, mutated witcher had more sway over Ciri than the all powerful Emperor of Nilfgaard.

So far, Emhyr had kept his hands away from them both. Overtly, anyways. It made sense, after all. Killing Geralt would be a sure way to win Ciri’s ire.

But if Geralt were to die by someone else’s hand. Well. Then Emhyr would be blameless, and he could welcome his estranged daughter home with open arms.

He had to wonder how often Emhyr thought about it. What plans might have been made or put into place. Or if he even cared about his heir. How often had Geralt dodged a claw or an arrow, and thought it an accident of misfortune, when really it was the Emperor playing a very distant, very long game?

If he even was at all. 

It was just as likely that Emhyr might try to lure in Geralt right along with Ciri. Witchers were formidable in many ways. That kind of resource would be one that even Emhyr would find use for. Especially one that was so well known in Northern Kingdoms. Geralt wasn’t just a witcher---those could be found even in Nilfgaard---he was a living Legend. There was never a witcher in history who had met so many kings and had so many important people beholden to him in one way or another.

Either way, Roche would report his findings to Thaler. The Blue Stripes did covert operations, but Thaler was the one who could ferret out the spies. He’d be able to point them in the right direction.

Hopefully it would mean there wouldn’t be a repeat of what happened up on the border. 

Roche and Ves sat in silence for a few minutes longer, each sipping their drink. Fuck, but long interrogations were trying. In many ways they were just as much an endurance test for the interrogator as they were for the prisoner, and Roche’s patience was not limitless. Sometimes, perhaps, he had more of a heavy hand than was needed. Occasionally. But he very much liked immediate results. The long game was for spooks like Thaler. The Blue Stripes did all the fast, dirty work. 

Roche finished off his ale and slammed the mug on to the table. “Time for another go.”

As he stood up, Ves stood with him. “I took a peek in on him when you walked out last. Doesn’t look like he’ll last much longer.”

“Meh. Sometimes, these things happen.” He cracked his knuckles and grinned. 

\---

_Damn Siegfried and his terrible head for politics,_ Yennefer thought to herself. 

For being the grandmaster of a widespread and influential order, Siegfried hadn’t the faintest idea of what was going on in his own damn kingdom. She’d had to sift through more Redanian nobility than she’d ever wanted to even look at before she tracked down who his potential usurper was. 

Friedrich var Steingard.

He was one of the minor nobility, and a late convert to the Order of the Flaming Rose, joining when he was older than the regular initiates. His family weren’t well known, and as far as Yennefer could tell there was some type of vague scandal around some of his immediate family. It had forced him out of the higher circles of power in Redania, and thus he’d headed off to the clergy. 

And what better than a military order? He found empty heads and eager hands in the followers of Jacques de Aldersburg, the former grandmaster of the Order. Following Aldersburg’s death, he’s began cultivating his own group of devout followers, all built on the hatred of nonhumans. 

After the mass destruction of the hundreds who had hunted down Geralt, Friedrich had gone to ground. It had taken even more hunting to track down his happy little hidey hole. 

Yennefer probably could have just gone to Philippa and asked her. As one of the heads of Redania’s Regency Council, she would no doubt have a finger on the pulse of every bit of juicy information within her kingdom. 

But something didn’t set right about talking with her. Philippa and Geralt were not friends. Ever since Philippa lied to him when he was trying to save the dragon Saskia’s life. Philippa gave him the wrong ingredients for the cure, and not aware of it, Geralt gathered them all. Philippa did wake Saskia from her sleep, but in doing so she bound Saskia to herself. Yennefer knew Geralt wasn’t pissed about the fact Phillipa then tried to kill him using Saskia’s dragon form, but for the enslavement of the dragon. Geralt hated slavery in all its forms, and especially when it came to Saskia who was such a hope for the future of Upper Aedirn.

Maybe it was because of her own personal dislike. Philippa was powerful, very powerful, but she and Yennefer had butted heads on more than one topic. Her cold, sharp tongue didn’t win her any favors, either. 

Maybe it was because Yennefer had her own suspicions about who was the originator of this little plot. Everything she’d found out about Friedrich didn’t paint him as an impressive mastermind. _Someone_ was funding him. 

From what she learned, the man was younger than Siegfried and almost as charismatic. His message of hatred was taking root on the ground unwittingly prepared by Siegfried’s inattentiveness.

It was very possible that Philippa knew exactly who was funding Friedrich, and was happy to let it happen. Or if the gain was great enough, it might even be her. 

No, despite Lodge connections, Yennefer wouldn’t be bringing this subject up to Philippa until she’d tracked down exactly who was involved. And if Philippa herself was the source, well, Yennefer would shed no tears when Dracula devoured her.

Dracula’s rather impressive rage was the only reason she wasn’t planning on killing Friedrich herself. Once she’d gotten all relevant information out of him, anyways. She and Geralt weren’t lovers any more, nor would they ever be again. It wouldn’t have worked with them. Maybe _couldn’t_ have. But she never stopped loving him and despite his many romances, she knew Geralt loved her, too.

It was with that cold calculation in her heart that she devised a plan to speak with Friedrich. He’d tell her everything he knew, and he’d think she was doing him a favor for it.

Currently, Friedrich was squirreled away with one of his more devout followers. _Surely_ it was pure coincidence that said follower came from a fairly wealthy trade family, and thus had a rather palatial manor in which to retire to. The whole thing made her shake her head. Friedrich staying there was such a transparent grab for power and luxury. But religious fervor made men blind, especially to the faults in their leaders.

It was with this in mind that Yennefer portaled directly into their courtyard. She could have just rode up, but she wanted to make an entrance. Power was so much more than just magic or money or looks. Power was what you could make people do through sheer force of personality. 

As she expected, she was greeted immediately by members of the Order rather than the family’s personal guards.

“Halt! State your business!” one of the two guards cried, moving towards her with his sword drawn.

“Come back when you actually have the right to ask me questions,” she drawled, not even bothering to stop. There was a shield around her, loosely based off of Geralt’s Quen, but invisible to normal human eyes.

The two Order brothers looked at each other in confusion. Both were wearing the typical half plate that the lower ranks were supplied, as well as the Order’s livery; a white tunic with the image of the flaming rose emblazoned on its front. Both looked young as hell, and just smart enough to realize that attacking a sorceress might be an incredibly dumb idea.

They ended up trailing after her like lost puppies, a little too confused to call an alarm, but not quite indifferent enough to leave her alone. It was almost sad. 

“Miss…uh, Milady?” one of them said, not daring to get close to her. “You can’t come in here.”

“And how do you plan on stopping me?” With a gesture, she pushed the large door open, the wood hitting the stone walls with a sharp crack that made both guards jump.

By this time she’d attracted more attention, and several more Order members had shown up. Happily, it also brought out Friedrich himself.

Like the others, he was armed and armored. His gear was a fair sight nicer, though, both in quality and coverage. His tabard was scarlet, and his hair was cut much longer than Siegfried’s short military bob. He was on the thin side, too, and sported a pale, sour looking face. Where Siegfried was clearly built like a warrior, this man looked like he led from the back.

“You have overstepped your authority,” she proclaimed, using her magic just enough to make her voice carry to every nook and cranny. “You have caused irreparable harm to the Order, your commands have killed hundreds of your brothers, and you have put heavy strain on Redania’s relations with Temeria. You will explain yourself to me, because this is the only chance you will get.”

Friedrich gaped at her for a moment, and then quickly cast a furtive glance around to his Order brothers. He straightened up and nodded towards a door leading inwards. 

“Come with me. We’ll...go somewhere more private to discuss this.” He raised a hand and gestured towards the door, urging her to move ahead of him.

She sniffed at him disdainfully, and went where directed. As they walked, she kept her pace quick, forcing him to hurry along after her. While his plate armor was very impressive looking, Yennefer knew damn well that her dyed black leathers were significantly easier to move in, especially for one as out of shape as Friedrich, and she took ruthless advantage of that. 

“Who are you?” Friedrich asked, his voice slightly breathy from the effort of scurrying after her. 

“Yennefer of Vengerberg,” she said, knowing her name would be recognized. There wasn’t a courtier or an ambitious high-born anywhere that hadn’t heard of her.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Friedrich blanch a little. _Good_. 

By that time, they’d reached a private room. Some kind of den, apparently, if the stuffed deer’s heads on the wall were anything to go by. Once Friedrich opened the door, Yennefer blew right by him, taking command of the space.

“Milady Yennefer, I am still not sure why you’re here.” Friedrich shut the door behind them. Rather than immediately taking a seat and confronting her, he slipped off to the side, heading towards a table filled with fine glass decanters. Presumably filled with expensive liquors. He poured two glasses and then stepped over to offer her one of them.

Yennefer paused and looked at him just long enough to make him twitch, and then she took the glass. It was possible he meant to poison her, though she didn’t think it likely. Still, it was worth it to take the drink just to hold it and lord over him with it, even if she didn’t bother taking a sip.

She immediately headed for the most extravagantly stuffed chair and sat down, making sure to cross her legs and show off the high- heeled thigh-high boots with shining sparkling buckles. Only sorceresses could dress this way, not caring a bit about customs or modesty. She was older than this fool, and would outlive him by many lifetimes. The corners of her lips twisted in a vindicated, disgusted grin as she caught him looking. 

They always looked, and she enjoyed letting them know they could never have her.

“You sent troops from multiple settlements to hunt down Geralt of Rivia, signing the sentence and making it look as if the Order of the Flaming Rose was behind it. But it wasn’t the whole Order; it wasn’t even half of it. Merely your part of it.”

Friedrich just looked at her cooly, and sipped his drink. “Did I, now. And you have proof of this?”

She laughed.

“I don’t need proof,” she said, leaning back in her extravagant chair. “I am a Sorceress. Your paltry power struggles within the Order are not my concern.” She looked into Friedrich’s pale eyes. “What I am interested in is the utter mess that attack turned out to be. In one fell swoop, you managed to both erase the Order’s existence in a quarter of Temeria as well as cause King Foltest to look at Redania as the culprit of the devastation.” She paused. “There are even rumors that the Order deals in black magic now, something dark and horrible enough to all but obliterate an ancient forest.”

“What?! That is ridiculous!” Friedrich strode across the room and slammed his glass down on the table there. “No one who knows the Order would ever believe their involvement in black magic. It was obviously that witcher.”

“But you gave them proof,” she said, almost mildly. “You sent your soldiers, wearing your livery and with your name on their lips. In numbers never seen before. You may try to convince people you were trying to hunt down a witcher.” She scoffed. “As if one witcher required a hundred of your best soldiers and mages. But all King Foltest sees is that the Order of the Flaming Rose, on your command, mobilized and caused irreparable damage to his lands.” She took another sip. “We will be lucky if he only demands financial reparations and your head on a plate.”

“How do you know this?” It was obvious that Friedrich was starting to panic a little now. Yennefer felt the coil of vicious victory curl up inside of her.

“That the command was yours?” She asked, raising an eyebrow.

He paused, narrowing his eyes. “Any of this. As far as I was aware, my brothers to the south were killed in a tragic mishap, but I heard no word of any survivors.”

“They were killed, yes. But they left their papers behind.” She shrugged. “Maybe they thought they would come back victorious.” She shook her head as if in pity.

“Did they? Any and all warrants would be signed by the Grandmaster of the Order.” He smiled, oily and cold. “And while I may have gained some notoriety in my order, I have not yet decided if I am going to challenge Siegfried for his seat.”

They didn’t, but she could procure some that would pass muster for any check the Order’s mages could do.

“You forget,” she reminded mildly. “All I needed to do was cast a tiny tracking spell to lead me to the one who signed the orders.” She shrugged again. “Any aspiring sorceress can do that much.”

“You’re not Foltest’s assigned sorceress, though. That is one Triss Merigold. If he were to send one of you witches with a message, he would have sent her. Or they would have gone through official channels and I’d be hearing from the Redenia Regency Council. So why are _you_ here, Yennefer of Vengerberg?”

“To give you a chance.” She set the empty cup aside. “I don’t care about your power struggles within the Order. What I am interested in who were you paying off with that attack.”

“What?”

“I looked into your finances.” Yennefer touched one long fingernail to her lips. “Nothing really amazing there,” she said offhandedly. “But to get to the position you are now, you had to spend a lot more than you had. Considering your coffers have not dwindled, somebody else gave you the funds. And this attack? So far away from Redania and so very random considering what’s happening in the world? You did not come up with it. It’s obvious you were acting on somebody’s orders and I am interested in finding out whose.”

“What do I possibly gain from speaking to you? If what you say is true about Temeria’s ire, than the Order will be bearing official sanctions soon enough.” He filled his cup, and leaned against the table of decanters. He stared at her like he was trying to think of the best way to pick her apart. 

“You help me, and I don’t teleport to Philippa Eilhart right now and tell her you are a Nilfgaardian spy who aims to start a war between Temeria and Redania.”

Friedrich blanched.

“That is a ridiculous lie, and Philippa will know that!” His words were outraged, but there was a tightness around his mouth, and his face had gone pale. Philippa was a dangerous woman, and no one crossed her lightly. 

“Is it though?” she asked. “You sent armed forces to a different kingdom, caused huge land losses. In one go, you managed to damage the relations between both countries, damage Foltest’s income, threaten Redania’s financial stability once Foltest demands reparations, and start a possible civil war if Redania deems the Order of the Flaming Rose responsible.” She paused for a moment. “Quite the accomplishment.”

“No.” Friedrich shook his head. “No, I am doing good work for the _benefit_ of all Redania, and Philippa will realize that. She’ll know. All she needs to do is talk to her council and she’ll be well aware of the good service I do for her and all our people.”

Council? Oh, the treachery went deep.

“Have you met Philippa?” she asked, letting her amusement show. “Have you ever seen or even heard of Philippa _asking for advice_?”

“My patron will protect me. His good word will go a very long way, and even if Temeria does demand reparations, the potential gain for the death of Geralt of Rivia is too great to pass up.” Now the glow of fervor was starting up in his eyes, and he nearly smiled at her. His voice dropped to a calm, conversational tone, as if he were easing her through bad news. “The witcher is a beast, just one step above the very monsters he hunts. And those of the Order who do not fall in line with the new way of things perhaps should be purged. Even if that means by civil war.”

She smiled, but only because she knew Geralt was alive and would heal well. Unlike this man who wouldn’t live much longer at all.

“Witchers are just swords for hire. Nobody cares about them, Friedrich. Nobody.”

“Oh, oh, sorceress. You have been misinformed.” He looked at her pityingly. “Geralt of Rivia controls the black dragon that destroyed a portion of Novigrad. With his head on a pike, the threat will be eliminated, and Novigrad, the jewel of the coast, will be so very grateful that they will gladly fall in line for the Regency Council.”

“So...” It hurt, keeping the smile on her face. “Did you get it?”

“Pardon?” he asked, suddenly confused.

“The witcher’s head,” Yennefer explained, as if talking to a particularly slow child. “Did you get it?”

The smug little smirk he’d been sporting fell off of his face, and he stared at her, mouth barely parted. Slowly, he gritted his teeth. “Surely, he was killed in the devastation that took the Order. Obviously it was his own foul magics turning back on him.”

She laughed again, her throat hurting from the strain. “Everybody knows a witcher’s magic is merely a handful of paltry tricks.” She waved her hand. “Every mage and sorceress will tell you that.”

“And yet he was able to summon a black dragon. My patron was firm on this, and _he would know_.”

So the patron was someone on the council. Someone who had enough of an information network that he was able to ferret out that Geralt was involved in what happened to Novigrad. That narrowed the list of suspects substantially.

“In the very heart of the Order of the Flaming Rose. Where your sacred fires burn?” she asked with a touch of sarcasm.

The bitter twist to his mouth turned a little bit more sour. “Obviously, they were false worshipers. Dedicated more to their own profit than piousness. Everyone knows Novigrad is filled with thieves and murderers.” 

“So…the Order in Novigrad is not real and should be…removed?”

“This is part of why I work so hard. So that I can save those poor unfortunate followers from their false leadership. Siegfried is weak. He is a fool, and he has led the chapters here astray.”

There was that fervor again. Yennefer wondered how long it would last under Dracula’s attentions.

“And there was nothing the Order, the real one, could do to stop him, even though the witcher was all but sitting in your lap?” She paused delicately. “Summoning the supposed dragon,” she added after a moment, just to be sure.

Friedrich turned away from her, and took a heavy drink. “My people were not aware of the issue in Novigrad. As far as anyone can discern, Geralt slipped into the city in the night, wrought his terrible magics, and then left again before any could stop him. I have done my very best to correct Siegfried’s misguided mistakes by sending my men to find him.” 

His words were harsh, but his tone was weakening. Even he didn’t really buy what he was saying. 

“But far away, conveniently on Foltest’s lands, you suddenly were overcome with _knowledge_ and _ability_ to stop this witcher that out of nowhere, after dozens of years, came into the possession of a Black Dragon?”

“The Council will surely see my efforts for what they were!” Friedrich defended, somewhat nervously.

Yennefer nodded at him.

“So…” She made a show of looking confused. “What will you show Philippa when she comes here asking why you tried to start a war between Temeria and Redania?” She looked at him gently. “If there’s no head to show for your efforts, just mad speculations. Remember, half the council has met that witcher on one or more occasions already.” She spread her hands in confusion. “Nobody ever mentioned a dragon of any kind.”

“My Lord Dijkstra will defend me. He knows Philippa well. She will listen to the other head of her council, and he will explain how _necessary_ this was. His intelligence was irrefutable! It would have to be, he controls all of their spies! And why should we, the Order, take on such a dangerous person inside Redania, leaving _our_ people open to the collateral damage that would surely follow? Why not make the attack in Temeria? They are wealthy, they can afford to take that loss, and they are far too busy with Nilfgaard to bother with a full on war with Redania.” Friedrich shook his head, standing tall and firm. “No, Philippa will see the wisdom of our plan. She will support me over Siegfried, and when the time comes, we of the Order will march with the people of Redania in whatever war inevitably comes.”

Dijkstra. 

Yennefer knew she should have killed the bastard when he aimed to kidnap Ciri when the girl was just a child. For the sake of stabilizing the political situation, she let him live. Obviously a mistake. One that would be soon remedied.

“You are a fool who underestimates women so much, you can't see what’s in front of you, aren’t you?” she mused. “It doesn’t matter that Dijkstra was Phillipa’s lover. She used him as she uses everybody. If you think she wouldn’t kill him if it suited her goals, you are as unfit to lead this order and Siegfried is.” She shook her head. “Good luck with Philippa, Friedrich.” 

She got up.

“I would start settling your affairs, if I were you.” She started heading to door, her heels clicking sharply on the floor. “There are wolves on your trail, and they will find you soon.”

“What do you mean?” He glanced at her, brow drawn down in confusion and worry.

“You woke something in that forest, Friedrich, something _dark_ and _hungry_. And it is following your trail, just as I have done.” She spread her hands. “If I found you, so can it.”

Friedrich’s eyes widened and his face went two shades paler. He swallowed hard. “Wait---” he said, just as she reached the door. “Wait, you said there was a chance you could help me.”

She paused, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, as if she’d just spotted something vile bubbling up out of the ground. 

“I’m sure your fervent faith will keep you safe.” She didn’t give him a chance to respond, merely opened a portal and got away from the vile man. 

Dijkstra, the slimy bastard, was the only one on her mind. She would get pleasure from telling Dracula the names. She would get even more from watching the vengeance he brought down on those men. The fact her hands would remain clean, her political position untouched by the upcoming slaughter, was an added bonus.

Yennefer stepped onto the polished stones of her home and sighed. First she needed a bath and some wine, to wash away the taste of malignant stupidity and hatred. Then she needed to find Triss and learn what the other sorceress came up with. She would prefer to get all of the names to Dracula in one go. She would hate to miss a single kill he made. A shiver came over her as she remembered the pure rage that wafted off the very earth he scorched where Geralt was attacked. That kind of anger didn’t go away. It merely hunkered down, covered itself with logic and patience, and waited to burst out to freedom at an appropriate time.

She knew, because she had a fire like that inside her, too. Fierce and bitter, proud and endless. It burned deep, just under her skin, and only the knowledge that Dracula’s vengeance would be much more cruel than hers stopped her from acting.

After all, she could only kill them _once_.

\---

Triss withheld a sigh and shifted very slightly on her feet. 

This court function had been going on now for hours, and would likely continue for hours more. They’d dedicated all morning to a closed court session. Usually these sessions were reserved for settling grievances, listening to petitions, and anything else a high placed noble might attempt to demand the king’s attention on.

Today, King Foltest was using this time to continue to deal with the consequences of the Order of the Flaming Rose’s stupidity and Dracula’s rampage. Each and every one of them had been up to their eyeballs in managing the situation. 

Not only where there refugees to deal with, people that had fled the oncoming destruction, but there were also emissaries from all the neighboring client states and countries. The client state of Brugge in particular was impacted. They share a northern border with the area that Dracula decemated. If it weren’t for the fact that the ruling dryads of Brokilon never, ever left their forest, Triss would have expected them here, too. 

After the dark miasma that covered the destroyed area had mostly lifted, Foltest had sent out armed military, mages, and clergy to assess the situation. To Triss’s vast relief, most of the destruction had actually stayed out of Brokilon proper; it was only the tamer uninhabited forests on Temeria’s side of the border that took the brunt of the impact. 

Still, the burnt, blackened area was large. Very, very large, and completely destroyed. Something on the very earth, Dracula’s rage maybe, corrupted and destroyed everything left on it. 

After a day, the polished armor of the soldiers started all but falling apart, the metal old and rusty. Horses became lame because of the damage and sported disintegrating horseshoes. Their leather tack wrinkled and dried out. Not only was the ground uninhabitable, it was actively dangerous, too. It started along the border and spanned several leagues deep into the country, stopping just shy of the city of Dorian.

Triss had organized the magic users at Foltest’s beck and call to try and analyse the situation. See if they could come up with some way of making the earth safe to travel over at least. That would be the first step to recovery. So far they’d all come up with nothing, but the situation was still fresh. She held out hope for finding something to reverse the corruption.

The other councilors had their hands full, too. 

Constable Natalis, Foltest’s military advisor, was busy shuffling their forces around. They didn’t dare leave the Nilfgaardian border weak; that was exactly the kind of thing that Emperor Emhyr was waiting for. But they also had their hands full with the creatures that had spawned from the destroyed area. As competent as Temeria’s miliary was, they weren’t witchers. The casualties weren’t anything to sniff at, and the local villages and farmsteads were starting to suffer. 

Duke Hereward, representative for Temeria’s highborn, was nearly tearing his hair out dealing with panicking nobles. Each and every one of them was concerned for their safety, their lands, and their children, many of whom were involved in various parts of Temeria’s infrastructure. 

Traditionally, first sons were heirs, second sons went to the military, and third sons went to the clergy. Additional children filled in wherever their parents deemed it useful. This strategically placed each family for further advancement, letting their children meet the ‘correct’ kind of people, but also building them good will with the King. It was useful for Foltest as well, because he could ensure loyalty. People as a whole were less likely to cause conflict when their own children would be in the king’s service. 

All of this meant that the Temerian nobility were keenly invested in the destruction along the border, even if they weren’t directly impacted. That meant several of them felt they had the power and authority to meddle with the situation, and all of them felt the need to complain about it to Foltest.

Predictably, Archpriest Vilmerius, the representative for the clergy, was being insufferable. He had long been a strong supporter of the Order of the Flaming Rose, and their predecessor, the Order of the White Rose. The old fool hated nonhumans of any kind, despised mages, and was generally as pleasant to be around as a flea-infested goat. He was also extremely wealthy, having the coffers of several different holy orders to dip into. 

Unfortunately for him, Foltest was feeling particularly unsympathetic towards the clergy right at that moment. 

It was one thing to loudly support an Order that preached hatred of nonhumans. It was a completely different matter when that same Order caused such huge loses to the king. Foltest had already smacked the Order down once, and frankly, Triss thought he’d been spoiling to do it again. He just needed an excuse.

“This bloody wreckage was the Flaming Rose’s fault, and I’ll not have them in my kingdom any longer!” Foltest snarled. It generally took a great deal to rile the man up, but this situation guaranteed it. 

“Your Majesty, the Order of the Flaming Rose was doing you a favor,” Vilmerius said, shaking his head. He stood proud and tall in front of King Foltest’s throne, three steps away from the start of the dais, as protocol demanded. His robes were resplendent in green and gold, neatly covering up an aging, soft body. Perhaps he didn’t notice how the other nobles in the room, the highest of the highborn, all edged away from him. As if his poor fortune might rub off on them through contact alone. 

Triss noticed though. From the look on Foltest and Hereward’s faces, she wasn’t the only one. 

“How do you figure _that_?” Foltest said, tapping his elegantly gloved fingers on his throne’s armrest. Per his norm, Foltest was dressed in dark reds and golds, and the blackened chainmail coif and shirt peeked out from around the decorations of his office. He sat up with his back ramrod straight, and glared down at Vilmerus from under the weight of his golden crown. While deep in his middle-aged years, Foltest was still a man in his prime. He’d been a fair king, as far as Triss could tell. All in all, she didn’t mind serving the Lodge’s interests here as his advisor. 

“The Order of the Flaming Rose was hunting a dangerous criminal, your Majesty. One that needed to be purged from this land, for all our sakes.” The archpriest’s face was perfectly entreating. The man spoke well, it was true. This time he’d backed the wrong horse. Triss thought him smarter than this.

“Really. A dangerous criminal.” Foltest’s voice was flat and cold, and the hand on armrest tightened into a fist. He already had been made aware that the Order had been hunting Geralt specifically. As an old friend of Geralt’s, as much as any good ruler _could_ be a friend to someone anyways, Foltest had reacted with predictable rage. 

“Yes, your Majesty,” Vilmerius said seriously. “An evil, foul man, the incarnation of hellspawn himself. He was sneaking through your kingdom, spreading his filth and demonic presence. It was _he_ who caused the destruction along your border, in an attempt to save his own pathetic life from a just exorcism.”

Foltest blinked, hard, and grit his teeth. “You realize, Archpriest Vilmerius, that I am well aware of who _your order_ was hunting, and it was none other than Geralt of Riva. The witcher.” Vilmerius had the grace to swallow hard at that declaration. “Geralt. The same man who saved my daughter, Princess Adda, from the curse that had plagued her for so long. The very same man who has repeatedly come to my aid over these last many years.”

“Sire…” 

“No. You will listen.” Foltest stood up slowly, his anger nearly radiating out of him now. “Not only are your accusations of wrongdoing completely unbelievable, but your insistence that a mere _witcher_ could have caused the vast destruction that has traumatized my land is insulting. To all of us here. No witcher has that kind of magical power. No single sorceress or mage that I have ever heard of has that kind of power. You are lying, or you have been misinformed.”

Now Vilmerius started to sweat, his forehead going just a tiny bit shiny with it. He kept his composure, though. “My King, I---”

“_Enough._” Foltest took a step forward. “The various Orders and Temples that you represent will be contacted and made aware that your council seat is now vacant. The Order of the Flaming Rose will be cast out of Temeria, and all of their lands, funds, and possessions seized. They are no longer welcome in my kingdom, in any form. What _else_ I demand of them is still yet to be seen. And you. My men will detain you for questioning on this matter.”

Guards marched up from the side of the hall and grabbed Vilmerius by both elbows. 

“My King! I promise you I had nothing to do with this incident! I am merely representing those holy orders who look to me for guidan---”

“We shall see,” Foltest interrupted him mildly. “If you are truly innocent of any knowledge of this disaster, then you will be released to the Temple of Melitele, where you can serve out the rest of your years in seclusion and quiet contemplation of the Goddess.”

With a wave of his hand, the guards dragged off an astonished Vilmerius, who was still too stunned to even put forth much of a complaint. Foltest sat down with a frustrated sigh and looked to his herald. 

“What’s next?” he said, sounding incredibly tired.

“Mage Caran Tovshal, your Majesty,” the herald said with a respectful bow. “Special envoy sent directly from King Henselt of Kaedwen, to speak with you on an urgent matter. He arrived but an hour ago.”

“Kaedwen?” Foltest shared a glance with Triss. 

She’d told him that something had manifested in the northern part of Kaedwen and that was what caused the sudden debilitating headache on every magic user in the kingdom. Any and all information about Kaer Morhen and Dracula, she’d kept to herself. Implicating witchers with the general mayhem that Dracula caused would only end badly for them. So whatever game Dracula was playing and however Geralt fit into it, Triss wanted to let them make their move.

And as of late last night, Triss knew a hell of a lot more than she once did. Ciri had shown up a few hours after dark. She’d been out of contact for days, apparently having been locked up in Kaer Morhen after finding Lambert. Each day that passed, Triss had worried more. But there had been too much going on for her to investigate herself. She had to trust in Ciri’s abilities and Dracula’s reluctance to injure any member of Geralt’s family. 

It turned out that her trust was well placed. Ciri was fine, and she brought news of Dracula, Alucard, and the rest of the Wolf witchers. Everyone was accounted for, and all were recovering from their various misadventures.

Henselt, however, had predictably set up an army at Dracula’s front door. Ciri told her that Dracula had left the dealing of that to his castle’s steward and to Vesemir.

It seemed very likely that this envoy was here with news of how that situation worked out.

“Send him in,” Foltest ordered, then he raised his voice a touch to address the collected nobility. “My lords and ladies, there will be no more petitions heard today. We will resume again in the morning. Councilors, attend me.”

It didn’t take long for the court to clear out. In addition to the royal guards, only Triss, Constable Natalis, and Duke Hereward stayed. They arranged themselves on either side of the throne as was customary, and waited.

The mage was thin and tall, with a reedy mustache of a warm brown color that gave a bit of life to his otherwise pale face. She wondered if the pasty coloring was natural to him, or of it was exhaustion that made him look like this. His robes were elaborately decorated. Typical to Kaedwen court styles, the topmost layer had long billowing sleeves that were cuffed tightly at his wrists and a back hemline so long it nearly touched the ground behind him. Embroidery and precious metals adorned his clothing, expensive but not garish.

“Your Majesty.” The mage bowed smoothly, obviously used to courtly graces.

“Envoy Tovshal,” Foltest said with a slight nod, the typical show of respect one might hope to receive from the king. 

“King Henselt sends me in a matter of highest urgency.”

Triss waited with dread. This was where she would hear that Dracula had decided that enslaving the Northern Kingdoms was the easiest way to give Geralt some space to roam.

“As your Advisor probably already told you,” Tovshal looked at Triss briefly, “there have been unexpected developments in the Blue Mountains.”

“Indeed she has, but our sight there has been limited. Tell me of what you know.”

“A whole magical city appeared there four nights ago.” 

“A city?” Foltest mused. He leaned back and rubbed his chin with one hand.

“Yes, sire. Well fortified and supplied, the inhabitants capable of magic that nobody in this world thought possible. Last night, my great ruler managed to secure a treaty with the foreign forces.”

Foltest raised his eyebrows in surprise. Probably because Henselt was not a man known for his pursuit of peace treaties. In this case, Triss knew that he likely had no choice. If Dracula’s representative had wanted to kill them all, they would have. Vesemir likely influenced them, too, but how much was questionable. The old witcher collected information from all of his boys like copper coins in a jar, hoarded until needed. Who knew what he had added to the negotiation.

“A treaty,” Foltest repeated.

“Yes, sire. With great cost, King Henselt managed to convince the foreign forces not to expand farther into the Northern Kingdoms and remain where they are.” The mage looked serious, his gaze intent on the king. “After dangerous and long negotiations, my king managed to further secure the safety of the surrounding kingdoms by gaining a promise of help in case of Nilfgaardian forces attacking any of the bordering kingdoms.”

A wave of cold over took Triss, and she knew she must have gone pale as a ghost. Dracula’s forces at war. That would be a terrifying sight, and one that had more far reaching repercussions than likely any of them realized. 

Foltest sat up straighter, even going so far as to lean in. “That is most impressive. King Henselt has often proven in the past that he is adept on the battlefield, but this treaty could not have been an easy bargain to reach. So this new power is willing to aid us against further attack? Any of the Northern Kingdoms?”

“My king made the deal, so obviously the promise extends to him predominantly, but is not only limited to Kaedwen.” The mage paused, licked his lips and continued. “There are certain conditions that have to be met for the help to be extended to all countries bordering Nilfgaard.”

“These things always come with a cost.” Foltest’s voice was tinged with both resignation and irritation. “Tell me of these conditions and of what tribute Henselt has promised we will give.”

“As you wish.” The mage bowed again. “Safe passage to all witchers that enter your country. The city settled around the old witcher keep, Kaer Morhen. Apparently, they have taken quite a shine to the witchers there. Enough so that they wish witchers to be welcome in any land that they offer their aid to.” Tovshal’s expression turned grave. Despite his calm, relaxed posture, his knuckles where his hands clasped together were white. “In the possible case of an attack from Nilfgaard, the city will deploy their own troops to aid. Each one shall wear their lord’s livery; a black dragon on a red field. If even a single one of their troops is attacked by one of the Northern Kingdom’s forces, the treaty is off and the city will declare war on all of us. If a witcher is brought to harm under the order of any official representative of any of the kingdoms, likewise, they will declare war.”

Silence followed that explanation. 

So this was what Dracula, or his people anyways, had worked out. It seemed bizarrely both harsh and lenient. Harsh, because the risk involved. One mishap and it would be a war on two fronts, and at the worst possible time. Lenient, because the safety of a handful of people was such a small price for the offer of an army. 

“Those are the only conditions on their aid?” Foltest said, looking somewhat puzzled.

“That is all.” Tovshal shrugged a little. “The lord of that city does not enjoy the presence of others, and may or may not ever leave his castle. As far as my king can discern, that lord is pleased enough to stay there in peace, provided that what is claimed as his is not meddled with.”

“But why ever would we attack their forces? If they are allies with us and have joined us to fight against the invading forces of Nilfgaard, what possible gain would we have from attacking them?” Foltest asked, tilting his head in curiosity.

If anything, Tovshal turned a shade paler and his skin took on a slightly waxy complexion. 

“The denizens of the castle are…” The mage swallowed and looked first to Triss, then to Natalis and Hereward, and finally back to Foltest again. “Not, exactly…human.”

Foltest blinked at him, and Triss had to stop herself from covering her face with one hand. _Not exactly human_ was a massive understatement. 

“You mean they are non-humans like elves or dwarves?” Foltest sounded doubtful. “While I can see why they would fear an attack from humans, I can’t imagine them being powerful enough to keep Henselt in check like this.”

The envoy stood there with his eyes a little wide, clearly at a loss for words. 

“Your Majesty,” Triss interjected quietly. “Remember that this is the same city that appeared in a single night, transported from who knows where, in a magical event so profound that every mage in the Northern Kingdoms felt as if they’d been hit in the head with a hammer. Who is to say what these people are capable of?”

“What was observed so far,” the mage said after a moment, “is that the denizens of the city are of rather more…dark persuasion.”

“How do you mean.” Now Foltest sounded more than a bit concerned. 

“Iorveth looks like a sweet babe in comparison.”

Iorveth was a name that every ruler in the Northern Kingdom’s feared. He was the leader of all bands of scoia’tael, elven guerilla fighters, and was responsible for the deaths of countless hundreds of humans throughout the land. He was vicious and wickedly intelligent. There wasn’t a single human held land that he wasn’t wanted dead in.

It was an impressive comparison and one that neatly got the point across. To be honest, Triss thought the man was still underselling it a bit. She dreaded the day that Dracula finally decided to wander through the local courts. 

“...Henselt found himself with no choice, did he,” Foltest said.

Tovshal simply shrugged again. “I cannot say. I was not privy to my liege’s negotiations.” 

“How odd...that we should have this foreign power show such an interest in _witchers_ of all creatures.” Foltest leaned back in his throne once again and stared off into the distance. “And so soon after this current mess…”

“The steward of the castle, a stately female of otherworldly looks,” the mage said. Then he paused, the oddest expression coming onto his face. “Apparently...” He was stalling, Triss could see it clear as day. “Found the witcher, Vesemir, ah…pleasant to look at?” He blushed at the final part, clearly uncomfortable.

Foltest raised his eyebrows in surprise. Then he pursed his lips. This turned into a muffled grin, which quickly dissolved into a stifled snicker. “So. The reputation of witchers holds true then,” he said with a smothered laugh. “I wonder if this seduction was on purpose or accidental. It would not surprise me either way. Geralt himself has enough songs dedicated to this particular knack of his. It follows that other witchers might share his tendencies.”

_Oh great, good Gods_, Triss thought. She was having a damn hard time herself not making a fool of herself, either with laughing or exasperation. Every time she’d visited Kaer Morhen in the past year, Vesemir had been constantly chased around by the sex demons there. It seemed Dracula had an interest in getting all of the witchers involved with either him or his minions. But Vesemir had held out, much to the succubi and incubus’s vociferous disappointment. 

She had to wonder if Vesemir had finally found one he was actually interested in, or if this was just further plaguing on the demon’s part. 

“I cannot say, your Majesty,” Tovshal said respectfully. The bright flush on his face was slowly starting to fade. 

“Good Gods, but that is a lot of effort to go through for a dalliance, though,” Foltest mused, a small smile still quirking at his lips. 

“Depends on the amount of power to spend,” Triss said gently. “If for them moving a whole city is a feat they are capable of without much effort, who is to say that waging bloody war on the Northern Kingdoms is any more difficult. Maybe to them, making this deal is as easy as for you, Your Majesty, spending some coin on a good singer.”

He nodded at her. “That is a fair point.” Then Foltest turned to Tovshal and said, “Temeria will tentatively agree to follow these restrictions, but I require that an envoy of mine return with you to Kaedwen to finalize the details with Henselt and meet the representative of this new city. Does it have a name? And what is the name of their lord?”

“As far as we are aware, there is no specific name for the city. But that city’s ruler is Dracula, Lord of Chaos.”

For just a moment, the room seemed to grow a little bit colder, and ever so slightly darker. Triss hoped that it was her imagination, but she very much feared it was not. 

“Lord of Chaos. Well that’s a title that inspires comfort,” Foltest said dryly. 

“Doesn’t it, though,” Triss muttered, shaking her head a little. “If I might suggest, your Majesty, send someone who is very steady, both in temperament and manner. Someone who frightens easily by the unusual or strange would not be a useful choice.”

“I have a few names I could suggest,” Duke Hereward added. “One or two of the nobility come to mind, but there are a few traders that I suspect would make good choices as well.”

Foltest nodded. “Summon them, and we will meet them to decide which will be best. Envoy Tovshal, my servants will escort you to a suite where you may rest and refresh yourself. I will call upon you later to work out the details of this matter.”

“Yes, your Majesty. I await your attention with pleasure.” Tovshal bowed respectfully, and was ushered out of the room.

Once he’d left the room, Foltest looked to his advisors. “Well?”

“I wouldn’t be sad for more resources in the event of a third war with Nilfgaard,” Constable Natalis said, rubbing the back of his neck uneasily. “I am worried as hell about that condition though. If they actually had to make a point of saying we can’t attack their forces, it means they’re very sure we likely would attack their forces on sight. But…” he shrugged reluctantly. “It looks like too good a deal to pass up.”

“Agreed,” Duke Hereward said. “The stipulation about witchers is nearly laughably simple. It’s probably a dodge. I suspect they have some other reason to keep the Northern Kingdoms free from Nilfgaard’s influence, and this witcher business was simply a good excuse. We should look into that, while also taking advantage of what they offer.”

Foltest looked to Triss. 

She paused and licked her lips, trying to figure out just what to say. “I think we should tread carefully here, your Majesty. The sheer power that this Lord Dracula commands is…” She took a breath. “Very, very impressive. I do think that it’s good that he, and his steward, are willing to make peace with the rest of the Northern Kingdoms. I worry about what it will mean for all of us in the future, but I’m not sure that I can see a better choice than to agree to this treaty. Angering these people would be profoundly unwise. Also, it really costs us nothing while a war could cost us everything.”

Foltest digested this for a moment, and then nodded. “We’ll move forward with this. Having an additional ally at our beck and call would ease a great many worries. We’ll see what our envoy can tell us of this new city and its inhabitants. In the meantime, orders can be sent out to all cities, villages, and military groups. Witchers are not to be harmed. They shouldn’t have been _anyways_,” he growled, “but in light of recent activities, apparently I need to make an official statement on that. This treaty just offers us another good reason to do so. Spread with it that anyone wearing the livery of this Lord Dracula is not to be harmed, though I want to know immediately if any such personnel appear in my lands.”

“Yes, your Majesty,” both Hereward and Natalis said with a respectful nod. 

“And…” Foltest paused. “I think we will invite Lord Dracula, or an envoy of his choice, to our court. I want to meet this man, or being, that has Henselt so hemmed into a corner.”

Triss held back a shiver. That little event was _sure_ to go over well.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I know everyone thinks of Vesemir as the image in the games, but, like, [this is who Xantissa and I think of](https://www.instagram.com/anthony.varrecchia/?hl=en) when we think of Vesemir. 
> 
> There's a reason the sex demons are all over him ;)
> 
> Edit: I have updated the link so it will WORK now, and the gentleman's name is Anthony Verrecchia, just in case the links faaaail again some time in the future. Check him out ;)


	17. Chapter 17

Eskel felt remarkably well when he woke up. He was warm and relaxed, and the bed under him was more comfortable than he’d ever remembered having before. 

He yawned, rubbed at his eyes, and stretched out on the bed, letting his toes really pull. His body was a little stiff, but it was the pleasant stiffness of a really good sleep. He really hated the idea of waking up, hated to say goodbye to the soft relaxation.

A gentle sigh and the feel of a hand on his side caused him to blink his eyes open. He was snuggled up close to Geralt, who in turn had Alucard wrapped around him. Both of them were still sleeping, though Geralt looked like he might be starting to stir. 

This was hardly the first time Eskel had woken up wrapped up in their arms. By this point, it was barely even a surprise. What was more confusing was how he got there. He scrunched up his nose and tried to remember what the hell had happened to make him fall asleep. While he thought, he absently ran a hand lightly down Geralt’s side, right where Alucard’s arm wrapped around him. Really, he was far too comfortable to want to move at all, and it was ridiculously soothing to be held by them both. 

He took another deep breath in and realized that the heavy weight of blankets on top of them was exacerbated by the substantial heft of Dracula’s coat draped on top. The scent of burning fresh wood and dark power radiated from it; something Eskel found incredibly comforting. After everything that had happened, Dracula’s scent meant that he was safe, and his body knew it.

He remembered Dracula walking over to him, touching his face…and then nothing.

Eskel narrowed his eyes.

“Did you knock me out?” he asked, staring up at the smooth, painfully white ceiling. Eskel knew that Dracula was there, somewhere. Even without looking. He could feel him in the room. Dracula’s dark energy sighed against his senses, blanketing them just as much as his coat. 

“You needed the sleep,” came a dark voice from somewhere to the left of him.

Eskel shifted a little more, trying to get him in sight and vainly hoping he wouldn’t wake the others. 

“So that’s a yes,” Eskel said. The relaxed feeling of good sleep was fading rapidly.

Dracula sat in the chair just next to the bed. His red eyes shone in the dim room and there was the barest hint of a smirk on his lips. 

“You don’t care for yourself as you should.” Dracula, of course, didn’t sound guilty at all. 

“You are a bastard,” Eskel said on an exhale, and rubbed a hand over his face.

“Yes,” Dracula said, sounding oddly amused. “I was found on a church’s front steps as a babe.”

“And now you made me feel like an ass, even though you’re the one acting like one.” Eskel sighed. He should know by now that he could never win in a discussion with Dracula.

“It’s a talent,” Dracula said, his voice low and vibrating through the soft shadows of the room.

“You could have just _asked_, you know.” Eskel raised his eyebrows at him.

“I considered that,” Dracula admitted unexpectedly. “But decided not giving you an option would be more expedient. Besides, you looked like hell and were long overdue a rest.”

Eskel gritted his teeth. Part of him was grateful for the fact that Dracula actually cared. Dracula had taken the time to make sure he was rested and stayed up to stand guard over him while he slept. But part of him grated against the lack of choice he had in the matter. The lack of control. He didn’t know how to feel about it. 

He almost wouldn’t even have minded Dracula taking the initiative to keep him safe and comfortable, if only Dracula had bothered to ask if that sort of action was acceptable to Eskel in the first place.

“Do you enjoy it?” Eskel asked, sounding less bitter than he meant to. “Forcing your will over mine?”

“Yes,” came the clear response. Dracula sounded honest and unashamed. It made Eskel raise his head and look at the demon lord.

Dracula was sprawled in the chair Eskel used before, his legs spread out in front of him and his right elbow resting on the armrest. His hand was loosely fisted. He was resting his chin on it, and his red eyes were focused on Eskel. The black shirt under the black suit was straining at the stretch of his chest in this position. There was a sense of patience and focus in him, all of it directed at Eskel. As if there was no other thing Dracula could possibly be doing than putting all of his attention on him.

A shiver raced up Eskel’s spine at Dracula’s easy answer. Something trembled inside of him, just on the edge of his understanding. “If I said no. Really said no. Would you stop?”

The truth was, he didn’t want to. But he had to know if he even had the choice.

Dracula was silent for a long while, just watching Eskel with those unreadable eyes.

“Yes,” he said eventually, after a break long enough to make Eskel’s heart pound. “The sweetest prey is always the one that comes to me willingly.”

Relief washed through Eskel’s body, and he had to close his eyes for a moment just to take it in. 

“You won’t hurt me,” Eskel said very softly. It was said like a statement, but it was a question, too. “Whatever you do to me, you’re not going to hurt me.” Eskel looked back to Dracula, his eyes a little wide. 

“That was never my plan,” Dracula admitted. “You were too interesting to damage from the very beginning.”

Eskel swallowed hard. “Sometimes things don’t go as planned. What happens then?”

He had to know. Dracula had just given him the option to stop this, once and for all. But the care and comfort that Dracula gave Eskel was something he didn’t want to disappear. He had to know that this wasn’t just setting himself up for further punishment.

“Does some accidental pain scare you? A witcher?”

Eskel snorted softly. “It’s not the prospect of accidental pain. It’s your actions after it happens that matter. I need to know that you’ll...” He looked away, suddenly ashamed of himself.

“Want to keep you?” Dracula offered.

“Yes,” Eskel said plainly. He already knew he was owned, the mark on his chest proved that, but the quality of the care Dracula would offer one of his possessions remained a question.

“Of course,” Dracula said. “I have judged you and found you worthy. I shall keep you, because I’m not stupid enough to let precious things slip by me.”

Something very much like hope curled up in Eskel’s chest. He swallowed hard.

“If I’m to be your...your toy, I’d prefer to be a well cared for one.” Eskel couldn’t look at him. His face absolutely burned with embarrassment, and he prayed that Geralt and Alucard were still so deeply asleep that they weren’t hearing this particular admission. “If you break a thing you care about, you fix it, you mend it. You make sure that it’s safe from being accidentally broken again.” He swallowed hard. “You could very easily break me.”

“I have a castle full of toys,” Dracula scoffed. “You are far more than that to me.” Then he stood up, his powerful body filling the room with his presence. “I will not break you,” he said with a finality of declaring a law. “Should I cause unintentional damage, I will fix whatever I caused.”

Those words settled something in Eskel. It was a relief to hear him say it. To know for _sure_. 

“I’m glad,” he said finally. “I don’t particularly want to be a toy. But I do like it when you...you keep me safe.” That burning blush was back, and Eskel found it hard to look above Dracula’s knees. “I won’t say no unless I need to. Unless it’s important.” 

Gods, he wanted to crawl over and see if Dracula would let him sit in his lap. That impulse was embarrassing as hell and he promptly buried it inside of himself.

“You do realize,” Dracula said mildly, his voice so low it made a shiver race down Eskel’s back. “That I trust you on that?”

Now Eskel had to look at him in the face. “You trust me to tell you no?” he asked, a little puzzled.

Dracula walked up to the edge of the bed and then slowly circled around to stand at Alucard’s side of it. He never took his eyes off of Eskel.

“I want to bend you, yes,” Dracula said. “But I trust you to know when you are about to break and stop me.” He nodded. “Yes, that is exactly what I want.”

That concept was so novel that it left Eskel speechless for a moment. He licked his lips. “I don’t always know what you’re going to do before you do it. Some general warning would be good, so I could tell you what...what might be something I really wouldn’t want.” 

Dracula hummed, looking thoughtful.

“I will consider the warnings.”

Eskel nodded. He was still a little astonished at the concessions he’d gotten so far. Now more than ever he was glad he was still wrapped up in the comfortable bed. His skin burned to be touched, and the heat and the comfort of being cuddled so closely was soothing in a lot of ways. 

He wasn’t alone. Dracula had offered him an out, a way to exert at least a little control over what happened, even if it was only a call for an all stop. 

Eskel shifted a little closer into Geralt and Alucard’s arms, but his eyes were still on Dracula. “The sleep thing was fine, but only because you were here to watch us, and because I needed it. If you do it again, just make sure I’m safe.” 

It was very nice to know that Dracula had watched over them, but the idea of being left insensible like that without someone he trusted keeping an eye out made his skin crawl. That was part of the reason why he’d been staying up all this week. 

“I don’t usually push myself like this.” Eskel shook his head once. “All witchers go without sleep for long periods of time, but we usually still meditate. That’s enough to keep us fresh.”

“I dislike it.” Dracula’s lips twisted in distaste.

“It was needed,” Eskel said, feeling a little defensive and at the same time angry for reacting that way. Only a little though. He had to admit that he did feel a hell of a lot better. When Dracula only looked at him, he sighed. “Alucard has made this place very defensible. But I don’t think I’ll feel better until Geralt is able to take care of himself. It’s not so bad with you or Alucard here, though.”

There was that thread of unease again, coiling up his back. There was more to it than just Geralt’s weakness, but for the life of him Eskel couldn’t articulate it. It might have just been the whole combination of events that had left him feeling so unsteady.

“I’m glad you two are back,” Eskel said. Oddly, he found himself disappointed that Dracula hadn’t joined them in the bed.

“I think if Geralt doesn’t get to move soon, he might explode. Pretending to be asleep for such a long time must be frustrating for him.” Dracula sounded mildly amused.

“Oh gods, really?” Geralt said, opening his eyes and looking at Dracula. “I was trying to be polite!”

Eskel buried his face into the pillow and burned with mortification. Because of course. He’d been so damn distracted by what he and Dracula were talking about that he’d completely missed the signs of Geralt being awake.

There was nothing that he could say that would make him feel better about this, so he just waited for the burning to go away. Maybe Geralt would be kind and pretend he never heard anything.

He looked up just in time to see Geralt’s face scrunch up.

“I really need to pee,” Geralt admitted, sounding as whiny as he ever did. He looked up at Dracula. “And no, it can’t be you helping. It would only end with more pain for me.”

Eskel snorted in amusement, and then nodded. No doubt Geralt would be having issues with Dracula’s hands all over him.

It had been Eskel that had been helping Geralt to and from the bathroom, as soon as the doctors had taken all the tubes and wires off of him. There were still all the half healed broken bones to consider and the fact that Geralt wouldn’t have been able to make the walk across the room himself. 

Not that Eskel minded too much. Over the course of their many years, they’d both helped each other out during injury. Granted, usually it wasn’t quite this bad, but every once in a while one of them needed an extra hand. 

So it only took a moment to tear himself away from the warmth of the bed, and ease Geralt out as well. The two of them made their slow, careful way over to the bathroom with Eskel holding basically all of Geralt’s weight. It was a little awkward but only in the fact that it was unwieldy to move a person around. Especially one who insisted on at least pretending he could walk. 

Once they’d made their way into the restroom, Eskel helped Geralt over to the toilet. He knew Geralt could take care of things from there, so he turned around to give him some privacy. 

Though he couldn’t help but ask, very quietly, “How much did you hear?”

“Just my lover being kinda creepy at you, but that’s normal for him.”

Eskel snorted in amusement. Then he ducked his head, his face heating up a bit. That was kind of Geralt, to let what was said slide so easily.

A few minutes passed as Geralt relieved himself. When Eskel heard him slowly stand up to wash his hands, he took a turn relieving himself and washing up, then offered Geralt an arm to lean on. Or really, an arm to fall into.

“So he’s not this way with you two?” Eskel asked. He knew they sort of talked about this a few days ago, but the question was worth repeating. 

“Not quite like that, no.” Geralt said. “In many ways he is both harsher and sweeter with Alucard, more laid back with me. You bring out a different side to him.” Geralt shook his head, a tiny smile on his lips. “He _really_ likes you.”

“Gods, I wonder why,” Eskel muttered mostly to himself, as he guided the two of them back out into the bedroom. 

Whatever commentary Geralt had on that was lost in the sight of Dracula on the bed. He was sitting upright with his back to the headboard and with his shirt unbuttoned and untucked. One leg was bent, showing off the powerful curve of his thigh. His whole body was curled ever so slightly towards Alucard. One hand ran lovingly through Alucard’s silver hair, slowly stroking him awake. 

He looked good, in Castlevania clothes. The black suit made him look both sophisticated and unusually pretty.

“Father,” Alucard said softly. His eyes fluttered open. He was still pale; the few hours of sleep didn’t really help him look less like a wraith. Alucard smiled and tilted his head towards the hand gently stroking his hair.

“How do you feel?” Dracula asked, leaning in.

Alucard raised his hand and stretched his long pale fingers out in front of him. 

“My hands are no longer shaking,” he said after a moment. Then he sighed. “I’m still weak.”

“My son,” Dracula said fondly, still carefully petting him. “What have you been up to that made you so weak?”

“Who told?” Alucard asked after a long moment.

“I have been told nothing, but I have eyes. You are far too tired for just what I know to explain it.” Dracula kept up the soft attention, and nothing in his manner seemed upset.

By this point, Eskel had shifted most of Geralt’s weight on himself. A quick shared look between the two of them proved they both didn’t want to intrude on what was obviously a sensitive moment.

Alucard closed his eyes and shifted, pressing his face to Dracula’s naked chest.

“The spell that kept Geralt from dying took a lot. More than I expected. It helped when you made me feed on you in hospital, but it wasn't enough. I used far more than I replenished.” Alucard put his hand on Dracula’s belly; his fingers moved gently over the hard muscles there. “Then Iga came with the news that you were asleep and unreachable.” Alucard pressed his lips to the bit of skin he had closest. “You were dreaming, Father, and the castle was playing out each and every one of your nightmares.”

That caused Dracula’s hand to still, and Eskel could see his slight, swift intake of breath. It only lasted a moment, though, and then the petting resumed.

“My dreams…” Dracula said softly, and there was a bitter tang to the words. “That could not have easy. Or pleasant.”

“I met Gabriel,” Alucard said slowly. Quietly. His eyes were still closed, and he pressed his face into Dracula’s side.

Eskel could feel how Geralt was putting more and more weight on him, sagging despite Eskel’s support. He knew he needed to put his brother down somewhere or Geralt would either pass out or rupture something.

He glanced around quickly, looking for a likely target. As quietly as he could, he moved them over to a couch along the wall. There, he helped Geralt lay down. It wouldn’t be as comfortable as the bed, but it would give Dracula and Alucard some space. Geralt flashed a quick, grateful smile at him. Just for the sake of keeping close, Eskel sat down on the floor there, his back propped up against the couch and with one of Geralt’s arms still rested on his shoulder.

“He didn’t know me.” Alucard said, his voice infinitely soft.

Dracula was frozen still. His face was like marble, completely unreadable.

“Did he---” Dracula started but stopped himself halfway through.

“He didn’t hurt me,” Alucard said. “He was…an incredibly good man.” There was so much pain in his voice that it even made Eskel’s breath hurt in his chest.

“At the beginning, maybe,” Dracula agreed softly. “He was a fool,” Dracula added, pulling Alucard closer, higher, so that Alucard’s face was now resting against his shoulder.

“He and you…you were all tangled up, living through one betrayal after another.”

“You fought,” Dracula’s voice hardened, and something dark stole into it.

“Only accidentally. He wasn’t trying to harm me,” Alucard shifted closer still until one of his legs tangled with Dracula’s. “I had to find you and wake you.”

Geralt’s hand tightened on Eskel’s shoulder. Eskel covered it with his own. They could have lost both Dracula and Alucard then and never have known why.

“I thought he was dead,” Dracula murmured. “Burned out of me long ago.”

Dracula pulled Alucard even closer. One hand cupped the back of Alucard’s head and angled it closer to his neck.

“You have to feed,” Dracula said softly, stretching his neck. Offering it to his son. “You did so well, saved us all. You deserve some rest now.”

“I’m glad I met him.” Alucard whispered, his pale lips sliding against Dracula’s neck.

“Are you?” Dracula asked softly.

“I prefer the Gabriel I met to any story I have ever heard of him.” Alucard’s hand wrapped around Dracula’s ribs, just under the tight swell of his pectorals, and he bit down.

Eskel watched, mesmerised, as Alucard’s long, pale fangs bit into Dracula’s neck. Dark, thick blood welled up immediately. Alucard pressed his lips to the wound and sucked, not letting more than a few drops escape. He made a sound, quiet, needy little thing that made Eskel immediately uncomfortable. When Eskel looked up at Geralt, he saw his brother’s lips were open and he was staring, entranced at the tableau before them.

More soft, little sounds from Alucard drew Eskel’s attention back to the bed. Dracula had leaned into Alucard’s mouth. His eyes were hooded and his mouth barely parted. The tension in Alucard’s body ratcheted up as he drank. His shoulders drew up and the hand on Dracula’s side gripped at the skin rhythmically, kneading him. 

From his position, Eskel could see that Alucard was hard; the thin silk of his robe didn’t do much to hide that fact. 

He was beautiful. 

Strong and soft at the same time, with hard muscle peaking through the sensuous slide of blue silk over his skin and the wild flare of his cloud-like hair. Dracula’s dark hair and perfectly white skin was a shocking counterpoint; the two of them fit together as if moulded in place. The faint scent of Dracula’s potent blood floated on the air, mixing with the sweet musk of Alucard’s arousal. Each carried the flavor of their power with it; fire and ice, blood and fur.

Behind him, Geralt made a tiny noise of want and frustration. Eskel sympathized. It was almost torture to watch quietly, to keep away so that they could have their moment of peace. It was just as impossible to turn away completely, though. His eyes felt glued to the scene and he knew Geralt must feel the same way. 

Alucard nudged into Dracula’s neck, deepening the bite and drawing him closer. The move made Dracula breathe out in a hard sigh. He worked his jaw back and forth for a moment, his eyes almost closing for a moment in the pleasure of it. 

When he opened his eyes again, he looked straight to where Geralt and Eskel were sitting. For a moment the red of his eyes brightened, like the warm glow of a dying campfire. The hand that was smoothing up and down Alucard’s back paused to curl a finger at them, waving them over.

Geralt nearly leaned forward off the couch before Eskel was able to grab ahold of him and carefully lift him up. If it was difficult to move him to and from the bathroom when Geralt was being relatively cooperative, now it was even worse. Geralt squirmed in his grip, his eyes locked on the bed, causing Eskel to carefully juggle him around to avoid putting pressure on any of the splints or heavily bandaged areas. As irritating as it was, Eskel couldn’t blame him. The need to go be pressed against his lovers must have ached more than any injury. 

“No sex,” he said, almost feeling guilty. “Nothing to raise your blood pressure too much.”

Geralt _whined_, a painful, wordless sound, but didn’t argue.

“I know,” Eskel said quietly, as he moved them over to the bed. “He’ll want your hands on him though. You can do that.”

It took a minute or two of careful shuffling, but Eskel got Geralt settled on the bed tucked in to Dracula’s side. He knew that Geralt still couldn’t move much, couldn’t twist or shift as he wanted. He also knew that just the trek to the toilet would be enough to utterly wear him out, so Eskel propped him up with pillows so that he could lay comfortably on his side. Dracula took one hand off of Alucard and snuck his arm under Geralt’s head, gently cradling him, while Alucard still fed on him. The quiet, needy sounds that came out of Alucard as he drank made it hard for Eskel to breathe.

They looked good together, even with Geralt still a patchwork of a person. Eskel swallowed hard and drifted back over to one of the chairs near the bed. It took everything he had to stay away and sit down. He’d never watched Alucard feed before, not like this. Back in the hospital, Alucard had only licked at sucked at Eskel’s old bites, and then shared a bloody kiss with Dracula. That was hotter than it should have been. 

But now here he was actually using his teeth, biting and drinking his fill. It was an intimate thing, almost like watching sex. Alucard rocked into each swallow, and he kept a tight grip on Dracula’s body; his hands kneaded at Dracula’s muscles and his fingers dug in from time to time. He looked like he wanted to crawl right into Dracula’s skin. The muffled, wanton sounds and moans that were so quiet Eskel was sure no one without enhanced senses would be able to hear were almost too much for him to bear. 

Alucard was usually cool and controlled, never one to just give in to sensation this way. A slight flush was already crawling down his cheeks, to his neck, and was very slowly spreading over his chest. His hair flared out over the pillows and over Dracula’s shoulder; a few strands even caught between the vampires and were stuck onto Dracula’s naked chest. There was something amazingly sexual in the way Dracula was positioned. He emanated power and confidence, was providing nourishment and life to his son, and at the same time remained absolutely in control.

It didn’t feel right to intrude on them now. But, oh, Eskel wanted to. If he were a better man, he would have left and given Alucard the privacy he usually enjoyed. That was beyond his abilities for the moment. All he could do was sit gracelessly and watch, hoping that none of them would mind his presence. He had to dig one hand into the arm of the chair just to keep himself still. The bite of the wood into his fingers kept him grounded. Reminded him to be quiet.

Alucard broke off. His lips were smeared with blood. The bite on Dracula’s neck closed as soon as the fangs were out, and the extra spilt blood sank back into his pale skin, disappearing without a trace.

“I can’t,” Alucard whispered, his voice slow and dreamy. He didn't pull away; he merely nosed under Dracula’s ear.

“A little more,” Dracula said, tilting his head and pushing Alucard’s head closer. “Take a little more.”

Alucar whined and undulated slowly against Dracula’s side. His hands clutched at his father’s sides.

“It burns,” he said. “Too much.” Eskel could tell Alucard was rubbing his cock slowly against Dracula’s hip, even if he couldn’t see any details.

“You can take it,” Dracula murmured, his voice rumbling through the room. “Just a bit more, to make you strong,” he urged. “We’ll hold you through it.”

Alucard let out a strained gasp, and his face scrunched up in desperate want and pain. It only lasted for a second, though, and then he rested his forehead on Dracula’s jaw, breathing right onto the skin of his neck. 

“Have mercy,” Alucard said, sounding worn and breathy.

That was too much for Eskel. He was out of his chair and perching on the edge of the bed behind Alucard before he could even think about it. He put his hand on Alucard’s back, right between the shoulder blades. 

“You are strong, so strong,” Dracula murmured. His hand in Alucard’s hair flexed a little. “You can take everything I give you,” he said, sounding fiercely proud. “You can’t be broken, not by me.”

Another few heavy breaths went by, and then Alucard nodded, very slightly, another whine leaving his throat. 

Eskel couldn’t see that well from his new position---Alucard’s hair obscured the view---but he could see Dracula’s reaction. He took in a harsher breath. His body arched ever so slightly and he groaned as Alucard bit down again. 

The new seat might have taken away Eskel's view of Alucard’s face, but it gave him an unobscured view of Dracula and how very hard he was. Eskel could see the way his belly tensed up with every breath he took, and the way his tendons stood out when he forced his body still for Alucard. 

Geralt was reduced to watching, too. His eyes were big and dark, and lips parted as he tangled his hand with Dracula’s tightly clenched fingers. His other hand dug into Dracula’s thigh, betraying his tension.

“Yes,” Dracula urged, sounding unbearably pleased. “Drink, take me in, take everything you need from me.” His voice was gravelly and soft, worming under Eskel’s skin and burrowing deep.

Eskel could feel the shudders racing through Alucard’s body. The muscles under his hand grew tighter and tighter with every shudder. The tiny sounds that came out of Alucard’s throat now were soft growls, and his hands curled up, gripping Dracula as if he might escape. Between each swallow, Alucard heaved a heavy breath, forcing air into his lungs as he forced the blood and power into his body.

This feeding didn’t last long. It took only another minute or so for Alucard to finally give up, slumping down bonelessly onto Dracula with a pained whine. 

Dracula panted in time with him and rubbed his cheek into Alucard’s hair. “Good. You did well, my son.”

Alucard made a half purring, half growling sound, still partially sprawled over Dracula. His hands were loose and relaxed and rested where they fell uselessly on Dracula’s chest.

“Alucard, love,” Geralt said. He let go of Dracula’s thigh and reached for one of Alucard’s limp hands. “Are you alright?”

Fingers twitched in Geralt’s grip as Alucard tried to stir himself. He let out a small, breathy whine. Something close to acknowledgement, but not quite a word. His breath was slowing down, calming into something more normal.

Geralt frowned and tried to lean in closer to Alucard. He ended up wincing from the movement almost immediately.

“Dracula, is he alright?” Now Geralt was starting to sound worried. 

Eskel was glad he asked. Since he hadn’t seen this before, he’d assumed that this sort of reaction might be normal. But having Geralt there to double check that things were going as they should was a relief. 

“It’s fine,” Dracula said, sounding lazy and pleased. “His body isn’t used to such a vast amount of power, that’s all. He’ll absorb it completely, he’ll just need a bit of time to do it.”

“Geralt,” Alucard murmured under his breath. His tongue seemed to tangle on the vowels, giving his words a strange slur. “You smell like evening.”

“Evening?” Geralt raised his eyebrows, and then glanced at Dracula and Eskel, asking without words what the hell Alucard was talking about.

“Hmm.” Alucard rubbed his face into Dracula’s shoulder. “Tart and sunny.”

That’s when the realization hit Eskel. Alucard was _stoned_. So very, very stoned. Alucard usually got a little high after feeding from Dracula, but this seemed extreme. He could see the moment that Geralt understood, too. They shared an amused look for a second.

“Dracula.” Geralt turned his eyes to the vampire. “Just how high is he right now?”

Dracula smiled beatifically.

“Very,” he said with relish, sounding and looking unbearably pleased. “I doubt he will be in any condition to leave the bed for most of the day.”

“Bed is great,” Alucard whispered, his voice still slightly slurred. “Soft and warm and full of you.” He shifted a little on top of Dracula, and then crooned sadly. “Warm...should be warmer.”

Geralt looked around for the blankets, but Eskel was already ahead of him. Dracula was too well pinned to do anything about the situation and Geralt wouldn’t have been able to bend down to grab them. So Eskel went ahead and straightened out the sheets and quilts, laying them over the three of them, tucking in the tops around Alucard’s shoulders. As he moved things around, he remembered his conversation with Geralt, and couldn’t help but shake his head. 

Gods, they were all so whipped. 

Alucard whined then, shifting and squirming until he had most of the sheets off.

“No,” he said in the most whiny, unhappy tone Eskel ever heard from him until now.

“Why not?” Dracula asked, as if this behavior was absolutely normal.

Alucard turned, his hair all in his face.

“Eskel has to cuddle,” Alucard complained. “He always cuddles.”

A burning blush stole across Eskel’s face. It was true. Alucard often sought Eskel out after feeding or sex, crawling into bed to warm up with him or patiently pulling him close to a fireplace.

“Well,” Dracula said, turning to look at Eskel with eyes that were again unreadable. “It seems I can’t cuddle my lover if you are not in the bed with us.” He looked from Eskel to the remaining space on the bed behind Alucard, and then back to Eskel again.

Eskel looked to Geralt, but only saw a pair of expectantly raised eyebrows.

“Seriously? Here?” He didn’t bother to mention that somebody could come in.

Geralt only nodded and looked pointedly at him.

Feeling both shy and grumpy, Eskel toed off his shoes and considered his options.

“Lose the hardware, too,” Geralt added. “Alucard doesn’t want to cuddle knives, just you.”

“Knives?” Alucard repeated, sounding adorably puzzled. He looked up at Eskel through his tangled hair that Dracula was already trying to gently push off his face. “No knives, Eksel.” Then he frowned. “Essel.” He frowned even harder and tried again, this time enunciating very slowly. “_Eskel_.” 

He looked very happy at his accomplishment. Geralt made a valiant effort not to laugh, but Eskel could see it in his eyes that he really wanted to.

Eskel hung his head a little and resisted the urge to grumble. So he had a few knives on him. Maybe more than a few. But Alucard sounded so gods be damned cute.

“Fuck,” Eskel whispered, and looked down, considering himself. 

Most of his knives were hidden under his shirt in harnesses, but he had a few tucked into his pants as well. With another sigh, he sat down on the bed and started unloading the various bits of gear he had squirreled away, creating a growing pile on the end table next to the bed. The ones slipped into his waistband and on his calves were easy enough to take off, but after a second of consideration, he just took off his shirt to get to the others. It was easier just to take off the harnesses completely that way. 

He jumped when he felt warm, smooth fingertips sliding up his back.

“Eskel,” Alucard murmured, carefully pronouncing his name. “I like Eskel.”

“I’m here,” he said gruffly. He tossed the last knife onto the table.

“Too far,” Alucard complained; his fingers were still exploring Eskel’s back, slowly, waking up a riot of goosebumps. The scent of arousal and power was incredibly strong in the air, and Eskel had to forcefully put the beautiful image of Alucard’s feeding out of his head. Sex wasn’t what was happening here, no matter what his nose was telling him. 

For a moment, he had to wonder if it was just the scent and the power in it making his body shiver with interest, or if it was Alucard himself. Or Dracula. Or, hell, both of them. 

He shook his head briefly, forced his mind back on track, and then turned around to slide into bed next to them. The moment he was under the covers, Alucard snaked out an arm and pulled him in close, half sprawling over him in the process. It was a little comical the way he twisted into position, like he couldn’t quite get the energy to move more than absolutely necessary.

Alucard pushed his nose, still a little cool, into Eskel’s ear and sighed happily, making Eskel squeak.

“Eskel,” Alucard hummed and wiggled a little closer, trying to smush his face into Eskel’s neck. “You smell nice,” he murmured. Eskel tried to get his arms around Alucard, but couldn't quite do it because Alucard was wrapped around him like a particularly friendly octopus.

It was wonderfully nice to be held in Alucard’s arms, though, and Eskel found himself relaxing despite himself. He leaned forward to breathe in the scent in Alucard’s hair, snuggling them closer together.

“You smell very nice, too,” Eskel said quietly. He tried to shift them both closer to Dracula and Geralt, that way they could all enjoy the warmth shared between them. Alucard was always most comfortable with more than one set of hands on him.

“Oh,” Alucard said suddenly, sounding as if he just remembered something. “I know how to help!”

Then he shifted atop of Eskel, brushed his fingers along Eskel’s jaw, and lowered his lips into a kiss.

“Wha---” Eskel tried to question, but it was too late. Alucard’s mouth was on his, wet and soft, and his power was sliding into him like the softest, warmest river.

Eskel gasped into it and by instinct swallowed it down. Over and over it poured into him, thick and syrupy sweet, filling him up. It swelled in his mouth, down his throat, making every cell of his body light up with pleasure and heat. The rest of the room faded away under the sensation of Alucard’s body and power.

He was clutching at Alucard’s sides, and the thin robe untangled under his hands. There was smooth, warm skin under the fabric, and his callused hands slid over it all. The warmth was everywhere, filling him to the brim and spilling over, wafting off of him in waves of pleasure and slow desire. He was hard, he understood dimly. Aching and wet, straining against his pants as he ground idly into the strong body above him. His skin sang with the contact, with the pleasure of touch and the want that blotted any real thought out of him. Both of Alucard’s hands were on his head, keeping him steady, keeping their mouths aligned as the power kept pouring into him endlessly.

His heart felt huge, like his chest was going to burst with the sheer amount of energy poured into him. Eskel couldn’t see anymore, though his eyes couldn’t possibly be closed. His vision had gone orange and then white, and the only sound he could hear was his ever slowing heartbeat. Each pound of his heart was like a strike of thunder from a quickly retreating storm. His lungs probably should have been burning from lack of breath, but Eskel couldn’t find it in himself to care. Or even feel it. There was only the pleasure, the full body baking heat that took him over.

Silence fell over him and still he strained into Alucard’s mouth, desperate for more of what was filling him. 

Then it was gone, pulled away, _ripped_ from him. 

“Enough. Alucard, _enough_.” 

That was Dracula, Eskel thought distantly. He couldn’t tell for sure, though. Couldn’t turn his head to see, even if he had been able to make out anything with his useless eyes. He couldn’t even move, wasn’t breathing. There was no need. There was only the power still hot inside of him, pulsing away at his still, unbeating heart.

“Eskel!” It was Geralt, sounding urgent and worried. “Eskel!”

He tried to answer. He did. The best he could do was twitch in place, forcing a tiny shuddering breath into his lungs. The crash of his heart started up again. One beat. Then a second. Then silence again. 

“Breathe, Eskel,” Dracula said firmly. “Breathe and stay awake.”

Eskel wanted to listen to him. Had to try again, though it was far more pleasurable just to stay still. He could lay still forever and be alright with it.

_**Breathe**_, the word echoed again, but not in his ears. It felt like he could hear it right inside his head, thundering through his chest. _**Breathe**_. The not-sound was Dracula’s power, every fiber of Eskel’s being told him so. _**You are not allowed to go yet**_.

He couldn’t help but obey. A slow shuddering breath filled him as he forced his lungs to work. Now he knew his eyes were closed, and he struggled to open them. His heart pounded in his chest once, twice, starting and stopping again as he wrestled himself back into sense. 

The pleasure and heat inside of him was so intense. It dominated the world around him, lulling him into stillness. But the voice told him to stay awake. Dracula wanted him here, so he would wake up. 

After what seemed like ages, he managed to get his lungs working and his heart got the message, too. Little movements came back to his body, and he curled towards the warmth next to him. Every part of him sang to reach out and touch. 

Alucard. He very much needed to touch him, to hold him and be warm again. 

Arms were around him and it was pure bliss. He forced his eyes to flutter open, and was met with the gorgeous sight of Alucard right in front of him. 

Each white hair was perfect, every inch of pale skin was lovely and glowing. More than that, for the first time Eskel could see the energy that radiated out of him like tiny, delicate wisps of smoke that touched and caressed everything he was near. It felt like they were breathing one breath, sharing one body almost, so close they were nearly one person.

He couldn’t help but lean in, rubbing their cheeks together, trying to crush that feeling and power closer to him. Even though this rubbed his hard cock against Alucard’s body, sending shocks of pleasure up his spine, that was nothing compared to the joy of all of the skin contact with their hands, arms, and chests laying flush together.

“Eskel,” Geralt again. Eskel giggled, realizing that Alucard was right. Geralt did sound like an evening breeze.

“Ger---” Eskel tried, and then smothered a laugh. “Gerrrrrrrrrr.” 

Alucard snickered with him. The amusement that Eskel felt at the fun sound of Geralt’s name was echoed in Alucard and magnified. 

“Rawrrrr,” Alucard chimed in. Eskel couldn’t help himself; he started laughing because that was the funniest thing he ever heard.

“Rawrrr,” he said back and giggled when he felt Alucard start to vibrate with laughter on top of him.

The two of them cackled together breathlessly. Just when it seemed that the laughter might slow down, Eskel added in, “Wolves. We’re growling wolves.”

That set them both off again.

“I think they're both stoned, now,” Geralt said and Eskel all but howled with renewed mirth. Stoned!

He had to shake his head. “Not stones. _Wolves,_” he said with a snicker.

“Cuddly wolves,” Alucard agreed, saying the words right into Eskel’s skin.

“Mmmm.” Eskel nudged his nose into Alucard’s neck, relishing the closeness.

Geralt still sounded kind of worried, though, which was a shame. Everything was too wonderful to be worried about anything. 

\---

Geralt clutched at Dracula’s arm. He tried to struggle upright, but his stupid ripped up body wouldn’t let him. The best he could do was lean up a little, trying to crane his neck up to see over Dracula’s body and watch where Eskel and Alucard had wound around each other.

They’d been laying there snickering and giggling for a solid five minutes, neither one of them putting together a single coherent word. 

Noticing his struggle, Dracula helped ease Geralt upright, resting him back against the headboard of the bed. 

“Are they alright?” Geralt asked, worried. He’d heard Eskel’s heart stop while Alucard was breathing power into him. Dracula had managed to pull Alucard off of him, but Eskel just lay there. Not breathing. Not moving. 

For a minute, Geralt was terrified that Alucard had killed him. But he felt Dracula stretch out his power, heard in his bones the command to breathe and stay awake. And Eskel had _listened_. 

Then Eskel and Alucard had pulled together and they’d been giggling since. What the hell they were even laughing about, Geralt had no idea.

“Alucard breathed too much power into Eskel,” Dracula said, frowning. He looked over the giggling men but didn’t actually reach out to touch either of them.

“I heard his heart stop,” Geralt whispered. The adrenaline that had flooded his system was just now starting to fade, and he felt even more tired.

“Yes,” Dracula said quietly. “You take my power rather well, all things considered. Eskel...doesn’t. Though he is improving. Alucard’s power is easier to accept, but even he can use too much.”

“Is he going to be okay?” Geralt asked, silently cursing his broken body and his inability to move.

“He survived,” Dracula said. “Nothing worse can happen to him now.” Dracula reached out a hand and touched Alucard’s hair. “I fear Alucard might have changed him though.”

Dread pooled cold in Geralt’s stomach. He reminded himself that the changes that had been wrought on his own body weren’t terrible. A return of youth and a lessening of old scars. His senses had gotten keener and he was far more in tune with Dracula’s power than any other energy he’d previously been able to perceive. Dracula had warned him there might be additional effects, but so far they’d been achingly slow to manifest. A part of him suspected that, too, was Dracula’s doing. For all his outward callousness, he was very protective of those he cared about.

Geralt could only guess what Alucard’s power would do to Eskel. In many ways, Alucard and Dracula shared similar abilities. It made sense, considering that they shared blood in more ways than one. But there were differences, too. Enough that Geralt worried for Eskel and Alucard both. 

“Why are they laughing?” Geralt finally asked. He’d seen people drunk or high enough on drugs that they laughed at every little thing, but so far neither Alucard nor Eskel had said a word. Or even acknowledged that they were being spoken to.

“They are talking,” Dracula said, watching the pair with furrowed brows. Geralt suspected he wasn’t the only one worried.

“Can you hear them?” Geralt had to assume it was some kind of telepathy. 

The way Eskel and Alucard moved together was a little unnerving. Like they shared a single body, brushing and touching each other like Geralt might brush back a strand of his own hair; without thought. 

It was concerning, but it was also bizarrely nice to see both of them so happy. Geralt couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen either of them laugh so much.

“Not the actual words, I just know they are doing it,” Dracula said, gathering the mass of tangled silver hair and pulling it aside. Alucard didn’t react other than giving another giggle. 

The movement only gave Eskel more room to thread a hand up over the base of Alucard’s skull. During their wriggling around, Alucard’s robe had fallen down his shoulders, and Eskel ran one hand over the skin there like he owned it. Alucard in turn was just as clingy, trying to feel every part of exposed skin that Eskel had. 

There was a certain beauty to Eskel’s scarred, rough hands on Alucard’s pale, smooth back. They differed so much in body types. Alucard was tall and elegant, probably getting his looks more from his mother than from Dracula. His long, lithe body was powerful in itself, but still retained a smooth and elegant look. 

Eskel was built more like Dracula, shorter and stockier. He was also scarred, not only his face and throat but his arms and chest. Likely over the rest of his body, too. Much like Geralt used to be. 

With Alucard’s robe sliding off of him and Eskel already shirtless, the contrast between Eskel’s slightly darker skin and rough, badly cared for scars and Alucard’s sleek body was strangely exciting. It made Alucard look fragile and almost small, and made Geralt want to cover him and protect him from the world.

Dracula put his hand on the exposed skin of Alucard’s back. He just spread his palm there and pressed. The moment their skin touched, Alucard arched with a gasp. His pale lips opened softly, and Geralt couldn’t help but notice how pink and wet they were now.

“Father,” he said breathless.

Interestingly, Eskel made a similar breathless little gasp and his eyes all but rolled back into his head.

“Alucard,” Dracula said, urging him up. “Come sit closer to me.”

“He does feel very nice,” Eskel mumbled. “Safe. He’s always safe.”

Alucard nuzzled into Eskel’s ear again and nodded. 

“Can Eskel come too?” Alucard asked, sounding happy and lazy, and more than a little fuzzy. Gods, Geralt loved hearing that soft tone in his voice.

“Yes, he can.” Dracula sounded amused, and he started petting Alucard’s back in slow, gentle movements. Each pass of his hand awakened shivers and goosebumps in both of the men.

But neither Alucard or Eskel moved any closer. They just laid there, tangled and squirming slowly against each other. Geralt shot Dracula a look.

“Alucard?” Geralt asked, unable to resist prodding a little at the situation.

“Hmmmmm.” The sound was low and soft, bringing back the memory of how exhausted and relaxed Alucard was after sex. Geralt swallowed, fighting hard not to let his body react to it. “Moving is very hard,” Alucard said, still a little giggly.

“So hard,” Eskel added. One of his powerful arms wrapped around Alucard’s back. His hand spread across Alucard’s hip and his fingers dug into the soft blue silk robe, crinkling it up. That only made the soft laughter start up again. Alucard pressed his lips to Eskel’s shoulder, muffling the sounds.

Holy gods, they were _so high_. 

Also tactile. Very tactile. The amount of physical contact going on was starting to make Geralt hot, no matter how much he fought it.

Dracula leaned over a bit. His silky black hair fell forward as he carefully moved them both upright. Then he pulled them to rest with their heads against his chest. That casual show of strength caused another tiny coil of heat to be born in Geralt’s belly.

“I think you all are going to kill me,” Geralt grumbled a little, and tried to suppress his body’s natural reaction. 

At this point Dracula was able to curl one arm around Geralt and the other around the bundle that was Alucard and Eskel; the two of them were tangled together so closely it would have been impossible to separate them, so it made sense that Dracula just wrapped an arm around them both. 

A trickle of satisfaction radiated out of Dracula, though Geralt got the sneaking suspicion that he was still a little worried. He looked like a pleased dragon watching over his hoard.

The new position finally granted Geralt a good look at Eskel’s face. His scars had faded a bit. Not so much that they were gone, not even close, but it was enough that Geralt saw the difference. 

“You’re very nice,” Alucard said quietly to Eskel, pressing his cheek against Eskel’s scars and rubbing against him like a cat. 

On one hand, Geralt was very happy to see both Alucard and Eskel look so pleased. On the other hand… 

“You never call me nice when you’re stoned,” Geralt said grumpily. This no sex business was driving him mad, more so than the inability to move. Alucard was so sweet and soft looking, it made him want to do unspeakable things. 

“You are not nice,” Alucard said, sounding puzzled and painfully honest. Geralt cringed. “You’re _hot_.” Alucard proclaimed that with the air of somebody explaining why water was wet and a little exasperated at the inconvenience. “But I’m too relaxed. And warm. Moving seems very difficult.”

Geralt preened a little at those statements. Being hot sounded a heck of a lot more fun than being nice. 

Then Eskel snorted in amusement. “No,” he said out of the blue. “We are not doing that.”

Alucard let out a soft harumph, but rubbed his cheek against Dracula’s chest, his nose tracing a line up and down Eskel’s cheek. “It feels very nice, though.” 

His hair was everywhere. It spilled over his face as well as over Eskel’s face and neck. Unruly strands snuck down Eskel’s chest and across Dracula’s pale torso. It was as if even his hair expressed his need to be closer, to touch. 

Every so often, Alucard would take his hand off Dracula and sneak it to Geralt’s arm and trace the faded scars on Geralt’s skin with warm fingertips. That careful touch was not doing Geralt’s heart any favors. He wanted to catch that hand, bring it to his lips, and lick until he had Alucard moaning. 

He refrained. 

Eskel and Alucard were still connected and Geralt didn’t want to traumatise his brother.

“No,” Eskel shook his head. “I’m still not sure if I like men. And I definitely do not like Geralt like that.”

Alucard let out a soft sigh, and then squirmed a little. 

“Oh.” Eskel’s eyes fluttered closed. “That’s a better idea.” He twisted a little in Alucard’s arms, writhing up against everything he could touch. “Still no. I think…I might be a little high.”

“You think?” Geralt said, amused.

Oh gods, they were still sharing thoughts. What the hell was Alucard’s mind feeding Eskel? 

“What are you thinking of, pretty wolf?” he asked, managing finally to get a hand on Alucard. His lover felt warm, the skin of his neck was so soft and radiating heat like never before.

“You and Father,” Alucard said simply, his voice happy and bright. 

Oh.

_Oh._

The comment about not liking men suddenly made sense. The only thing that stopped him from groaning out loud with want was knowing that Eskel was getting a front row seat to all the filthy things going through Alucard’s head right then. 

Alucard brushed his lips against Eskel’s, not really kissing him. More like he was just doing it for the sensation of it. Geralt couldn’t stop staring at the way Alucard’s soft lips caught on the scars that twisted Eskel’s. 

“You’re unsure, but you’re not,” Alucard said softly. He did a full body squirm that had to rub up into some interesting places for Eskel. 

Eskel just clutched him tighter for a moment. The thick muscles of his arms flexed as he pulled Alucard ever closer, and he gently parted his lips to share breath with Alucard.

Geralt had spent a lot of time with Eskel over the decades, including at brothels and drunken parties. He’d see Eskel in a lot of situations, including a few intimate ones. But seeing him and Alucard like this together was starting to fuck with his head. 

“It’s your power,” Eskel answered dreamily. “It feels _so good_. I can’t tell what’s me and what’s not.”

Geralt winced. This couldn’t be good for Eskel, not with how wicked Alucard’s desire could be at times.

“Maybe we should separate them?” Geralt said. He didn’t really know what to do. He reached for his lover, wanting to just touch, but the moment he made contact with Alucard, the vampire growled.

At _him_.

Geralt watched, a little stunned as Alucard squirmed and did his best to get Eskel under him, covering his body possessively. This also forced Eskel in between Alucard and Dracula, a position he didn’t look at all unhappy about.

“Don’t be mean,” Eskel complained, obviously at Geralt. “Dracula isn’t,” he added after a moment, as if he was pointing Geralt towards the direction of correct behavior.

Dracula chuckled and used that as a prompt to press Eskel and Alucard closer to his chest, looking unbearably pleased with the whole situation every second of the way.

“I’m a little worried that you’re gonna end up doing something you’ll...regret later,” Geralt said softly.

“Doing anything sounds like work,” Eskel sighed happily. “Staying still and cuddling is much better.”

Alucard nodded in time with him, and pressed him a little tighter to Dracula’s body.

“You want to bite us?” Eskel asked, rubbing his face onto Dracula’s naked chest. He sounded dreamy, relaxed, and unusually friendly. “You usually bite afterwards.” It was eerie and a little disturbing to hear Alucard quietly echo the words. “Feels good. I’m so glad it feels good. Bites usually don’t.”

“Even better when you are inside us when you do it,” Alucard said, picking up where Eskel trailed off. The plurals were starting to freak Geralt out a bit.

Eskel’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment and let out a soft, “Oh.”

Gods, but Geralt couldn’t decide if he felt extremely bad for Eskel or if he was just extremely envious. Maybe both.

“Drinking from you would be unwise right now.” Dracula tilted his head forward and inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of Alucard and Eskel twined together. “You are too deeply connected. I’m afraid draining the energy out of Eskel right now may cause irreparable damage to him or both of you even.” Dracula smoothed Alucard’s hair away from his face. “We should wait until whatever connection was created right now settles or fades on its own.”

“Settles?” Geralt said with no little alarm. “This might be permanent?”

Dracula hummed, pressing his hand to Eskel’s scarred cheek. The witcher moaned and arched into the touch, his eyes all but rolling back into his head. Alucard moaned right along with him and curled tighter around Eskel. They acted as if both of them could feel the touch, and as if the sensation was almost too strong to bear.

“I can’t be certain. But considering how much power he poured into Eskel, yes, some kind of connection or permanent change is very possible.”

Now Geralt felt a little more bad for Eskel, because there was no way Geralt was going to stop himself from spending some quality time with Alucard once he was all healed up. Eskel could cope. Besides, while having an audience wasn’t really Geralt’s preferred mood enhancer, he also didn’t care that much if there was one. Alucard was the shy one. Eskel had all but seen everything anyways. They often got together as a group for cuddling after the fact.

He sighed. Maybe he should be more charitable. If Eskel decided he wasn’t really interested in sex with men, having Geralt, Dracula, and Alucard’s activities playing through his head wouldn’t be very fun. 

A second worrying thought popped into mind. If Eskel and Alucard stayed so bound that they couldn’t stand physical distance between them, then that would nearly guarantee that Eskel’s Path would end. Or at least be severely curtailed. Alucard had duties and many, _many_ people relied on him. This whole incident had proven that very forcefully. Eskel wouldn’t want Alucard to shirk on those responsibilities, no matter the cost to himself. What a cost it would be, too.

They’d just have to wait and see how much of this new connection remained.

“Have you seen anything like this before? Is this normal?” Geralt couldn’t help but ask, worry gnawing at his stomach.

Dracula looked at him briefly before looking back to Alucard.

“Just say it,” Geralt said quietly.

“I saw something similar, yes,” Dracula said finally. “But not with humans.”

“When, then?”

Dracula sighed, petting slowly over Alucard’s head and then Eskel’s.

“When a mage bonded a familiar.”

_Shit_. Geralt didn’t know a lot about that process, but he did know that a mage’s familiar was a permanent aspect of a mage’s life. Sharing everything. Power, thoughts, and even life force.

“Though it does have aspects of the vampiric ability to create thralls,” Dracula added musingly. “It is possible that somehow Alucard has mingled the processes.”

That was even worse. A vampire’s thrall was little more than a mindless slave. Although, Eskel didn’t seem to be quite as submissive to Alucard as a thrall would be. That was a small relief.

“You’re worrying,” Eskel said quietly, though he didn’t stop gazing lovingly at Alucard. His eyes didn't seem to be focusing properly either. His pupils were widened to their fullest extent, like round, black moons. “It’s alright, Geralt. Everything is _wonderful_.”

Geralt rubbed his face with one hand and sighed. Yes, he was sure everything was unicorns and rainbows _right now_. He doubted it would stay like that.

“I just hope you are thinking the same thing when you sober up.”

But Eskel wasn’t listening to him. He’d tilted his head into Dracula’s chest and was busy rubbing his cheek up against the skin there. “We love how warm you are,” he said softly, and Alucard hummed in agreement. 

“Really,” Dracula hummed. Outrageously, he shifted to give both Eskel and Alucard more room to move. Geralt didn’t know how to feel about Dracula exploiting the situation so shamelessly.

“Dracula.” Geralt was torn between laughter and dismay. “You can’t take advantage like that.”

By now Eskel’s lips were dangerously close to Dracula’s nipple, and his tongue flicked out from time to time to taste the skin he had available in front of him. 

Alucard wasn’t so careful. He leaned in and was sucking at the swell of Dracula’s pectoral.

A visible shudder ran through Eskel’s body and he squirmed in place for a moment. Whatever he was rubbing up against with that squirm made Dracula let out a short breath, and Geralt could feel the arm around him tighten for a moment. 

Then Eskel snaked his hand up to pull Alucard’s mouth away from Dracula’s chest, drawing him in for a kiss. It was deep and slow, both of them taking their time licking into each other. After only a minute, they tightened into each other’s embrace again, pulling so close that there couldn’t have been even a hint of air between them. The scent of it all was driving Geralt a little mad, and he could feel the heat radiating off of them.

Before he could object, complain, or, hell, encourage them, the kiss parted. Rather than move away at all, they simply slid their faces cheek to cheek, as if trying to get closer still. 

“We can taste your skin,” Eskel said softly. 

He looked flushed and disheveled, his relatively short hair falling out of its tie. Short, brown strands were stuck to his cheeks and forehead, spilling over Dracula’s chest. Wolf witchers were all on the pale side, but his skin looked remarkably dark sandwiched between the two ghostly pale vampires. It made him look soft and so very different than usual. Geralt felt ridiculously protective watching him blink slowly, his eyes never quite gaining focus.

Dracula looked so pleased to have all them in his bed. To have Eskel this willing to touch him, too, probably. 

While Geralt had seen them cuddle more than once in the past, Eskel never really instigated any touch. He merely let Dracula manipulate him as he wished. Now, Eskel wriggled and strove for the contact, rubbing his cheeks over whatever skin of Dracula’s he could reach. The fact Eskel was most probably squirming against Dracula’s cock was just an added bonus.

“You are incorrigible,” Geralt sighed.

“I’m not doing anything,” Dracula said with studied innocence, and a sparkle in his eyes. “Not moving even.”

“He’s like that,” Eskel said. “Doesn’t even need to move to be frustrating.”

“Oh,” Alucard sighed, somewhat surprised. “You couldn’t move.”

Eskel shook his head, which just devolved into rubbing his nose against Alucard’s hair. “Chains. I was chained.”

“I remember,” Alucard murmured. 

Geralt cast a confused glance to Dracula, who was still watching the gently shifting couple on his lap. With no help from that front, Geralt asked, “Chains?”

“In Steingard’s dungeon. Between being chained and being held, I couldn’t…” Eskel’s voice trailed off for a moment, and Alucard nuzzled down to gently bite at his neck with blunt teeth. “Yeah, like that,” he finished roughly. 

This was too much. Geralt had to close his eyes for a moment to try and calm himself down. He was a witcher, dammit. He had better control of himself than this. With no little effort, he forced his heartbeat down to something reasonable, and reminded himself that sex _was not happening_. 

“You’re sharing memories,” Dracula said, running his hands over the men tangled on top of him. “Of what happened to Eskel when he was captured.”

They both hummed an affirmative at him. 

“Only the good parts,” Alucard said in between licks at Eskel’s neck.

Eskel snorted, but didn’t object to that statement. He seemed to droop a little in place, and nuzzled into Alucard’s hair again.

“No,” Alucard said, reaching up to grab ahold of Eskel’s head. “No, you’re not going to think about that.” He ran his thumbs over Eskel’s temples, soothing him with those tiny movements. “Think about this instead.” 

Whatever Alucard shoved into Eskel’s brain at that point made him blush even brighter than he already had been. He let out a small whimper and let his head lay limply in Alucard’s hands. 

“Oh. That.” Eskel sounded like he’d been gargling gravel, his normally rough voice turned far more low and harsh. “I saw that. On the security cameras.”

Wait. Security cameras?

“What security cameras?” Geralt asked, suddenly dreading the answer. 

“In the portal room,” Eskel said softly, his eyes closed.

“Oh,” Dracula sounded…_indecent_ with how pleased he was. “You did?” He chuckled, low and gravelly. “Did you watch the whole thing?”

“Most, I think,” Eskel replied. “I probably shouldn’t have.” A flash of guilt worked across his face, but it quickly smoothed away as he pressed a little into Alucard’s hands. “It was beautiful. Sexy. You both were. But...confusing. I’m not sure how I should feel about it.”

Holy gods, this was where Geralt would die. Security cameras. Portal room. Dracula and Alucard. For _fuck’s sake_ Eskel was watching them screw and that bastard _didn’t even tell Geralt about it_. 

“What did you like the most about what you saw?” Dracula seemed intent on using this excuse of Eskel being high as a kite to interrogate the shit out of him.

“I liked how you held him. You gave him what he wanted.” Eskel cracked open his eyes to regard Alucard. “Though I couldn’t be so rough, I think. I like my lovers begging from the pleasure of it. Left helpless because it feels so good.” 

That statement mixed with whatever Eskel was thinking about made Alucard groan and writhe in place. “Yes. Feels so good,” he echoed softly. “Giving in. Letting him take what he wants.”

Eskel shuddered so hard, Geralt could _feel_ it.

“I’ve never been treated like that myself. Watching you two made me wonder what that would be like. To be cared for like that.” That last bit was said so quietly Geralt barely heard it. Eskel sounded wistful and maybe a little sad. Alucard obviously heard it, too, or maybe felt it, because he undulated closer, rubbing his mouth across Eskel’s jaw, nosing through the messy brown hair stuck to Eskel’s cheek, and humming soothingly at him.

That was it. Geralt was done. 

He squeezed the hand that Dracula had on him in hopes of getting his attention. “Dracula. I love you very, very much. But you need to get off this bed. And you need to leave them here. If you don’t, _someone_ is going to end up getting fucked, and if it’s not me I will be extremely pissed off.”

Dracula looked to him. His face serious but there was a crinkle around his eyes that suggested he was laughing on the inside.

“I am enjoying this immensely.” He looked to the two men sprawled on top of him. Yes, Geralt saw that. To be honest, he too was finding it somewhat adorable. “But I can’t let you harm yourself on behalf of sex.”

“Thank you.” Geralt sighed, sinking deeper into the pillows. 

It actually tired him out, trying to constantly lean towards Alucard and Eskel. There was an overall ache to his body that he’d been ignoring which now rushed to the forefront of his mind. He closed his eyes for a second and took a breath, trying to muster up a second wind. 

“You are both very cute right now.” Dracula tilted Alucard’s head and kissed his lips gently. “And very informative.” He tilted Eskel’s head next and kissed his temple. “I will remember this.”

Then his body started to flake off into bits and pieces of darkness that slowly faded away. He reformed his body two paces away from the bed, looking at the tangled pair with a soft expression on his face.

“Are you this cute when high, too?” Dracula asked, turning to look at Geralt.

“Sadly, I’m pretty sure I’m mostly just an idiot when stoned out of my mind,” Geralt said, shaking his head. He sighed. “There are stories, so, so many stories, of the impressively idiotic things I’ve done. The downside of being well known is that all of your misadventures are well documented.” 

“Doesn’t help that Dandelion is a bard,” Eskel said, sounding mildly confused. “Where… oh.” He finally spotted Dracula next to the bed and sighed sadly. “You were very warm.”

Alucard sighed mournfully, and tried to burrow in closer to Eskel. An impossible feat since they were both practically sharing the same body already. 

“Eskel’s hungry,” Alucard said, and then giggled. “For food, too,” he added after a moment, with a hiccup at the end.

“Tattle,” Eskel said fondly. “Geralt needs to eat first. He’s healing. And he gets grumpy if he’s hungry and the rest of us are eating foods he can’t have yet.”

“Hey!” Geralt protested. He did not get grumpy. And if he _was_ grumpy, he had good reason to be. 

Both Eskel and Alucard sort of shifted as one, slithering closer up to Geralt. As annoyed as Geralt was at parts of this situation, it was very nice to have his lover pressed up against him again. 

Geralt reached for the tablet John gave him and sent out a text to bring food. It was better to have the food arrive here, than have the stoned pair decide to go in search of the food themselves. He couldn’t even imagine what a disaster that would be.

This close and not as distracted by Dracula, Geralt could smell the arousal on both of them more clearly. It seemed that the utter bonelessness was keeping them from doing anything about being horny, but he could bet it wouldn’t stay that way. 

Alucard had options, and if Dracula’s hungry gaze was anything to go by, very willing options. 

Eskel…

That could prove to be a problem, especially if Dracula needed to bite him eventually. Geralt shifted, remembering how incredibly good those bites felt. Good enough that it had Geralt coming every time. As far as Geralt knew, Eskel still wasn’t sure that he wanted that with Dracula. There was clearly some positive consideration there, but that was still a ways away from agreeing and wanting it.

Geralt shook his head and reminded himself that Dracula had fed on Eskel before. They both knew what to expect, though no doubt the experience would be far more intense with Alucard’s unbridled lust running through Eskel’s brain.

And it wasn’t like they had a choice now. While Alucard could work through and absorb Dracula’s power on his own, Eskel would be stuck high as a kite until he got fed from. Geralt just hoped that however that worked out, it would go easy on Eskel. His poor brother didn’t deserve the upset.

Until then, John and probably Matt, too, would be coming up with food. Something Geralt was happy about. Under all the aches and pains, he was feeling pretty ravenous himself.

He cast a critical eye over the bundle that was Alucard and Eskel.

“Alucard.” He nudged Alucard’s shoulder. When all he got in response was a pleased grumble and some more writhing, he tried again. “Alucard. John is on his way up. Maybe you should, uh, cover up a bit?” 

That robe wasn’t actually covering a whole lot any more, and Geralt knew Alucard would never show so much skin normally.

Eskel moved, spreading both his scarred hands over Alucard’s back and pressing him closer. They already were sandwiched so close together, they probably couldn’t get any closer physically without actually fucking. His arms looked very dark against Alucard’s pale skin and white hair. They were not, however, really doing much for Alucard’s modesty.

“Hmmm, John.” Alucard’s face wrinkled with a tiny frown.

“Food,” Geralt reminded. “Coming soon with John.”

Geralt looked over to Dracula, not really expecting help but hopeful regardless. But Dracula just stood there watching them with his eyes still crinkled with amusement.

“Hungry,” Alucard confirmed sleepily and Geralt watched as he shifted to mouth at Eskel’s neck. Eskel tilted his head back and to the side, exposing his throat for Alucard in a smooth, trained move that made Geralt side eye Dracula hard. Just how often did Dracula snack on his brother for Eskel to be so well trained already?

“Eskel,” Geralt tried a different tactic. “Strangers are coming here and they will stare at Alucard’s naked skin.”

That made Eskel growl and hold Alucard tightly, his fingers digging into Alucard’s pale skin. 

“Why aren’t you more jealous?” Geralt turned to Dracula exasperatedly. His lover was remarkably unhelpful, even by his standards.

Dracula shrugged, sitting slowly in the chair he chose before. “I can just eat them if anybody stares.”

What Geralt said must have finally sunk in, though, because Eskel was starting to make some effort to get Alucard’s robe around him again. It wasn’t really going well, though. Alucard kept squirming around, and neither one of them seemed to want to stop rubbing their bare skin together.

“Your armor feels better,” Eskel grumbled. “It feels like your power.”

“It is,” Alucard agreed, still mouthing at Eskel’s neck. “It is me, as is my skin or my hair.” Any and all efforts to get redressed stalled out for a moment as Alucard worried at the skin of Eskel’s neck, nibbling so gently it wouldn’t even leave a mark. “Can’t call it here,” Alucard moaned. “Humans.”

Eskel heaved a sad sigh and leaned into Alucard’s mouth. Slowly, as if every movement pained him, he got the top of the robe in place, though he kept one arm snaked under it wrapped tightly around Alucard’s waist. 

Geralt didn’t know if he should cry or laugh. As worried as he was, it was impossible not to be affected by how happy they looked. All Geralt knew was he would need a drink, a whole lot of drinks, once this thing was over.

Eskel shifted them both so they were a little more upright. Again, Geralt nearly cracked up laughing at the whole process. There was a fair amount of wiggling and distracted, wandering hands, not to mention how completely unhelpful Alucard was being. He sprawled over Eskel, loose and happy, smiling like all the little movements were the best thing he’d ever felt.

After only a minute or two, Eskel sighed and gave up. He looked helplessly down Alucard’s body. While the robe top was mostly in place, Alucard had his long, bare legs tangled with Eskel. The sight of all that pale skin and blue silk draped over Eskel’s thick, jean-clad legs was positively indecent. There was something shockingly eye-catching about the contrast between soft and rough fabrics, and the firm, lithe muscle of Alucard’s body versus the heavier build of Eskel. 

Eskel stared muzzily at where they lay, one hand still drifting up and down Alucard’s side under the robe. His brow wrinkled up with confusion and he bit his lip. Whatever he was thinking caused Alucard to shush him softly and lick at his neck. A soft little moan escaped him and his eyes fluttered for a moment. 

Then Eskel turned to look to Dracula, eyes wide and imploring. 

“Help?” The word was said softly, and there was so much hope in it that it hurt a little. The sheer depth of expression in that one word was far out of proportion for what Eskel was asking. Like he was begging for the life of a loved one, not for some help wrestling the blankets into place.

Dracula got up from his chair, never taking his eyes off of Eskel.

“All you needed was only to ask,” he rumbled, bracing one knee on the bed and bending down. 

Geralt watched as he took Eskel by his jaw, turning his face toward himself and kissing him on his forehead. For a brief second, the scent of his power filled the room; the burning, writhing darkness of it overwhelmed all other smells. Then it was gone.

Dracula gripped Eskel and pulled him up, sitting him against the headboard like a doll while Alucard moaned his protest.

“Hush,” Dracula murmured and pulled Alucard up a little, too, so that he was nicely sandwiched between Geralt and Eskel. 

Alucard’s arm immediately snaked over Eskel’s hips, and his face smushed into Eskel side. The new position exposed more of Eskel’s scars, a myriad of long healed claw marks and bites accented by the odd knife mark here or there. The tattoo on his chest was bigger than when Geralt saw it first, too. Its original triangular shape was all but swallowed by curved, almost artistic tendrils that spread out from the center shape. Eskel looked a little stunned. His dark eyes locked on Dracula even as his hand found its way under Alucard and into his robe. Geralt could feel the way Alucard gently squirmed between them, never quite stilling.

Dracula pulled the sheets up, covering all their lower parts with it, granting them both a little more modesty. Eskel was obviously high, horny, and unable to stop touching Alucard, who in turn couldn’t seem to get enough of Eskel’s skin. Together, they made for an amazing image. 

“This is hell,” Geralt sighed, sneaking his own hand onto Alucard’s hip and holding on there, grateful for even that bit of contact.

That made Dracula chuckle. He patted Geralt’s hand, the one on Alucard’s hip, and got up, going back to his chair.

“Not yet, Geralt. Not quite yet,” he said, still chuckling just under his breath.

_Sassy bastard_, Geralt thought with amusement. 

“As long as you’re there, I won’t mind,” Geralt said, a smile curling at his lips.

The satisfied look in Dracula’s eyes was worth every bit of frustration.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dramaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!
> 
> >:D


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note from Quarra: I continue to go slowly crazy with RL but here at least is the next installment before I flee to parts unknown to deal with family. Uggghhhhhh family. This is also one of my fav chapters in the whole fic, so I hope you enjoy!

Matt was ridiculously relieved when John got a text from Geralt about food. It had been nearly ten hours since anyone had heard a peep out of the group in the bedroom and Matt hadn’t felt great about leaving them alone in the first place. 

It had been long enough that Matt had raced home to get a few hours of hasty sleep before returning. He hadn’t wanted to leave, but somehow he just _knew_ that with Belmont Sr. back, they would all need every ounce of energy they could get.

Given his presence, Matt opted to bring the food up himself. He’d been in near-constant attendance on Geralt and Eskel anyways, and the less people who had to interact with Belmont Sr., the better. 

Right before they knocked on the door, he and John shared a wide-eyed look. Spending any time with Geralt and Eskel was an exercise in patience, but the witchers were generally fun and easy to get along with. Every time they ended up in a room with Belmont Sr. on the other hand, horrors seemed to follow.

The door opened suddenly, without Matt actually having to knock.

“Ah, food has arrived,” Belmont Sr. said with an odd inflection to his words. His red eyes regarding them with an expression Matt couldn't read beyond some surface amusement. He was dressed in the same kind of suit as before, black shirt, black slacks, and a black jacket that barely managed to wrap around his powerful body. The gold rings on his fingers stood out shockingly bright; the colorful gems caught the light as he moved away from the door.

“Sir.” Matt nodded respectfully to Belmont Sr., a move that John echoed.

As they moved into the room, Matt kept his eyes on Belmont Senior. It was just common sense to pay attention to the most dangerous person in the room.

That meant that he nearly ran into John when John stopped suddenly in front of him.

“Wha--- oh,” Matt said, following his gaze towards the bed.

That was…not something he ever expected to see. 

Trevor was still in his blue robe, but now he was smushed in between Geralt and Eskel on the bed. Somewhere along the line, Eskel had lost his shirt, and all three of them were twined around each other. Or rather, Trevor was doing his best to hold onto Eskel as if he was his favorite teddy bear.

Before Matt could take in too many details, he suddenly felt the looming presence of Belmont Sr. behind him, closer and more menacing than a single being had any right to be. Matt didn’t even need to see the man to feel the focused attention that was being levied on him. It crept along his spine like skittering claws.

He quickly dropped his gaze and cleared his throat, getting John’s attention. Then he nodded forward, reminding the other man that they had a job to do, and that job didn’t involve staring in shock. No matter how much they really wanted to. 

The two of them headed towards the bed; John carefully perched in a chair near the edge. Not the one that Eskel usually favored, Matt noted, but one slightly off to the side. Probably a tactful way of leaving that spot open for Belmont Senior. 

Meanwhile, Matt brought the trolley of food over, parking it near the wall next to the bed. It was pretty damn clear that neither Eskel nor Trevor were getting up any time soon, and Geralt was still unable. He withheld a sigh and resigned himself to giving service in more ways than one. 

“John! Matt!” Trevor said, bright and happy.

That nearly made Matt drop the plate he’d picked up. He’d never heard his boss sound so goddamn happy before. When he looked up, he nearly dropped his jaw too. Trevor was _beaming_ at them from his reclined spot against Eskel’s chest. His dark, strange eyes were crinkled up with pleasure and a warm smile graced his face. 

Matt blinked. What the everloving _fuck_.

“Yay, Matt and John!” Eskel said brightly. Matt managed to tear his gaze away from his boss for a moment to take in the bizarrely cheerful Eskel. 

He was smiling. Not smirking. Not creepily grinning like he was plotting a murder. No. Smiling. Like it was his birthday and all he ever wanted was to see Matt and John come to visit. 

That was when Matt noticed his eyes. Those golden vertical pupil eyes were so dilated that there was barely a shred of gold left around the black. Then he saw how bonelessly both Eskel and Trevor held each other, and the lazy draw of their fingers over skin. Quite a lot of skin, actually. Another glance to Trevor’s eyes and it showed the same dilation, though it was harder to see with how dark fields of his eyes seemed to swallow up the golden irises. 

Holy shit, they were drugged. 

Very, _very_ drugged, from the looks of it. 

“Hi guys,” Geralt said with a small wave. He at least looked normal, thank fucking god. Or as normal as he ever got. The man still looked like hell, all bandaged and pale. 

“Mmmhmmm, they are good servants,” Eskel said, nuzzling into Trevor’s hair. From his tone of voice, it sounded like he was replying to someone. Or maybe just continuing a conversation that had been interrupted. Either way, it was nice to know that Matt and John were appreciated. Even if they were being called _servants_ rather than _employees_.

Trevor hummed in agreement. The hand he had wrapped around Eskel’s waist snuck up to crawl over all the scars on Eskel’s stomach. 

Oddly enough, despite the fact he was clearly drugged, Trevor looked better than Matt had seen him in a while. There was color to his face, the dark circles under his eyes were all but gone, and his lips were more pink than grey. The ever-present exhaustion of the last days was gone as well. Eskel looked better, too. Less tired by far, and relaxed in a way that Matt had never seen him. 

Again he felt that prickling presence at his back. Belmont Sr. watching them. Matt suppressed a shiver and tried to pull on a more professional expression than wide eyed shock. 

“Can I serve you up some food?” Matt asked the folks on the bed.

“Food,” Eskel said and Trevor, Matt’s ever serious and composed boss, exploded into giggles and then tried to hide them by smushing his face into Eskel’s stomach. It only made Eskel twitch and squirm, chuckles escaping him, too. “But hungry,” he whined and that only made Trevor laugh more.

This was so _weird_. He’d never seen his boss laugh so much. God, what drugs were they even on? It had to be something intense, considering how enhanced Eskel was. How much did each of them take?

“...Right,” Matt said finally. “I’ll just, uh, put a bunch of things on here.” 

While he busied himself getting a plate set up, Trevor and Eskel continued to giggle to themselves. 

“Are you alright?” John asked tentatively. 

_Oh, that’s probably a bad question_, Matt thought. 

If Trevor and Eskel were drugged out of their minds, he could only think of one person who could have made that happen. And that one person was still watching both Matt and John like they might suddenly need to be thrown out a window. Or maybe eaten. There was definitely a predatory, hungry quality to that look, and it was not friendly. 

“So good,” Eskel said brightly. “Hungry too!” he added, as if he couldn’t remember saying that just moments ago. He reached out for the first plate. His hands were surprisingly steady for somebody as drugged as he seemed to be.

“Can I get you anything, Mr. Belmont?” Matt asked, trying to catch Trevor’s gaze. 

That earned him another giggle. “I’ve already eaten. Why else do you think I’m so stoned?”

Cold dread pooled in Matt’s gutt. 

“Oh?” Matt tried to sound casual. He tried so very hard. It was already apparent that Belmont Sr. would do anything he wanted, to whoever he wanted, and that included murder. Matt would not at all put it past the man to decide that meddling servants were more trouble than they were worth.

“Mmmm,” Trevor hummed in agreement, rubbing his cheek along Eskel’s chest like a cat scenting up his favorite person. “Father fed me. Eskel got some too, so he’s a little stoned too. He still needs other food, though.”

Oh god. Belmont Sr. drugged his son’s food. Sweet lord, no wonder Trevor had an eating disorder. How long had that even been going on?

Matt tried to focus on getting a plate for Geralt ready while his mind raced at a million miles a minute. Fuck. They should be grateful that Trevor was even functional at all, given the batshit crazy family life he had. How had he managed to weather all of this insanity and still have enough energy to help so many people?

_Fuck it_, Matt decided and turned to his boss.

“Do you need help?” he asked, trying to catch Trevor’s eye.

Trevor looked at him, blinked once, then twice, his eyes gaining focus and more sobriety than Matt expected.

“I’m well,” he said, trying to enunciate slowly. “If you need me to, I can sober up.”

The worst part was that the easy, childlike happiness was already draining from his face, and his eyes grew darker and more serious.

As worried as Matt was, it was nearly heartbreaking to see that happiness flee his normally somber employer. Trevor had so little joy in his life. Matt couldn’t bear to be the one taking this little bit away.

“No.” Matt shook his head. “There’s nothing urgent happening. I just wanted to make sure you’re alright. You can relax.”

A quick glance to John had him nodding along. “We’ve got everything handled,” John added.

Trevor sighed, smiled, and sank down on the bed. He buried his face in Eskel’s belly and then blew a raspberry against the other man’s skin. Eskel jumped, nearly choking on the wrap he was hastily stuffing into his mouth.

With one hand held over his mouth, trying to keep the food bite in, Eskel smothered a laugh. He chewed and swallowed quickly, eyeing Trevor. “You--- You did that on purpose!” 

“Of course,” Trevor said, unrepentant. His eyes fluttered closed for a second and he let out a breathy sigh. “Mmm. Those taste very good. Try the other one.”

Matt shook his head a little. Might as well just accept the weirdness and move on. He could try, at least. Hopefully John would be able to cope, too. 

He walked around the bed and with a plate for Geralt, who looked at him gratefully. “Do _you_ need anything?” Matt asked.

“Nothing that you can give me,” Geralt said with a frustrated sigh, looking longingly at Trevor and Eskel. That was when Matt noticed that one of his hands was curled around Trevor’s hip, just under the blankets. 

Before his brain could even spit out the logical reason for that, Matt headed back over to sit down next to John. 

Whatever his boss got up to in his romantic life was not for Matt to judge or even comment on. 

But, wow, he’d thought that Geralt and Eskel were Belmont Sr.’s lovers. All this cuddling on the bed sort of put that in doubt, though perhaps the drugs were a good excuse. Lord knew that people high on Ecstasy didn’t care about personal space. 

Maybe they were Belmont Sr.’s lovers, and this was just an additional part of their job description? He’d originally assumed that Iga was just a sex slave, but her strength was astonishing. Now seeing these two hardened warriors be so soft and cuddly in bed…it made Matt wonder if they all served the same purpose. Assassins and courtesans? Did they crosstrain on everything, but just specialize in one? And if so, how often did Trevor partake of their services?

“That tasted very good,” Trevor sighed quietly. “Here, this one next.”

While Matt had been distracted, Trevor had started to hand feed Eskel various morsels off of the plate Eskel was holding. 

It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with that. Or even especially disturbing. It was the fact that this was _Trevor Belmont_. The same man who was so intimidating that CEO’s of other companies were afraid to walk up and shake his hand. The fact he looked more like a sex kitten than a serious CEO was just adding to the general sense of outlandishness. 

Matt took his seat and tried not to stare. Every time Eskel took a bite, Trevor sighed along with him. Like that one bite was the best thing he’d ever seen. 

“It’s been so long since I’ve tasted things like this,” Trevor said quietly, his eyes heavy with pleasure. 

John and Matt exchanged a look.

“We can easily make these foods a part of your regular meals,” John said. He was already tapping up something on his phone. Probably new food orders for the chef.

“There would be no point.” Trevor sighed a little, but didn’t stop shoving food in Eskel’s face. “I cannot eat it. It doesn’t taste right.”

“You could,” Belmont Sr. said, startling the shit out of Matt. 

In face of the absolute craziness that was his boss stoned out of his mind, he’d completely lost track of _Gabriel fucking Belmont_. Sometime in the last few minutes, Belmont Sr. had slipped into the chair closest to the bed. “If you would only...eat more regularly. You could eat these things and it would...upset you less.”

Trevor sighed.

“You and your mission to feed me up.”

Eskel sighed right along with Trevor. “You don’t eat enough,” he said after swallowing a bite. 

Trevor made a sound that resembled an exasperated teenager.

“No wonder my Father likes you so much,” Trevor groaned. “You are as much of a mother hen as he is.”

“Geralt is just as bad!” Eskel defended.

“Hey!” Geralt glared at him. “I am not.”

“Pssh.” Eskel rolled his eyes. “Tell that to someone who hasn’t seen you mother hen Ciri. Eat your desert, Ciri. Eat more sugar, Ciri. You use too much energy, don’t forget to have breakfast, Ciri.” He side-eyed Geralt with a sly grin. “You’d think she was going to waste away.”

Geralt just shoved a piece of food in his mouth and glowered. “She does need to eat more. She _does_ use a lot of energy.” Geralt attempted to raise his hands in a ‘you see’ gesture but winced halfway through and let his arms drop slowly. “That girl is barely more than skin and bones.”

Skin and bones was not how Matt would describe her. Lithe, maybe. Granted, she wasn’t as solidly built as the witchers, but few people were. She was very fit, though. Firm. It was a good look. A very good look.

It took a moment, but Matt realized that Trevor, Eskel, Geralt, and Belmont Sr. were all staring at him. John was looking back and forth between them all, eyebrows drawn down in confusion. 

“Do you think if we just tied him down, she’d take the bait?” Eskel asked. There was a very alarming thread of serious speculation in his voice.

“No way. I’ve tried it before,” Geralt said with resignation. Trevor wiggled in place enough to half turn towards Geralt and pat him consolingly on his leg, with a compassionate expression on his face.

When it finally hit Matt that they were talking about Ciri and him, his face burned. “Please, please tell me you didn’t kidnap someone and tie him down just to get your daughter laid,” he said flatly. He didn’t want to believe it. But, well, he wouldn’t put it past them.

“Kidnapping is a little harsh.” Geralt looked at him out of the corner of his eye and then focused back on his plate of food. “He was very willing.” He sniffed. “As I think you probably would be.”

That burning sensation redoubled as Matt remembered that they could actually fucking smell him having impure thoughts. He closed his eyes and pursed his lips, trying not to say something damning. He knew better. He turned his thoughts to work, and work only, letting everything else fade away.

“Oh,” Eskel said, swallowing another bite. “Nice control.” He sniffed pointedly. “Can barely smell your interest anymore.”

“You did very well choosing your servants here,” Belmont Sr. rumbled quietly, sounding both pleased and a touch impressed. 

Trevor preened under the compliment and his mouth curled into a warm smile as he snuggled into Eskel’s chest. 

“Now we just need to get John laid,” Geralt said offhandedly.

John squeaked, startling so hard that he nearly fell out of his chair.

“Iga wasn’t to his taste?” Belmont Sr. asked, surprised.

“She! I wouldn’t--- I mean, she’s _fine_, I just---” John sputtered, eyes wide. 

“Hmm, maybe I should bring Ian here, then?” Belmont Sr. wondered out loud.

“Who is---,” John started. 

“No, he’s good,” Matt said, interrupting him. 

The grateful look that John shot him was a full body motion. 

Geralt and Eskel both looked at John curiously. Then they looked at each other.

“Maybe he’s like Vesemir?” Eskel said. “Likes ‘em free range?”

Geralt just shrugged. “That seems like a lot of work just to get laid.”

“Again, as if you didn’t go to unbelievable lengths to scratch the itch.” Eskel snickered, and then opened his mouth for Trevor to feed him another bite. 

“Mmmm some things are worth the effort.” The distant look on Geralt’s face was nothing short of lascivious. 

“You sure you don’t want a taste?” Eskel asked Trevor. 

For whatever reason, that made Geralt tense in place and Belmont Sr. lean forward with interest. Both moves were subtle; enough that Matt wondered if John even saw it. But Matt had been schooling himself to read body language for years, and right now he knew that Geralt was…maybe not _concerned_, but intently interested at the very least. Maybe a little jealous? Belmont Sr. was flat out extremely interested in his son’s answer. Eager, even. 

Trevor shifted up to breathe in right at Eskel’s neck, his eyes heavy and mouth just barely open. It was enough that Matt had to look away for a moment, unsure if he should really be sitting right there watching. 

“You tempt me a great deal. More than anyone other than Geralt,” Trevor said quietly.

Suddenly, Matt was not sure at all that they were talking about food. A quick look around the rest of the room showed that Geralt and Belmont Sr. were both smirking. Yeah, no. Definitely not talking about food. 

Though if Trevor was fucking these two, who was it he’d had sex with while they were both here? 

Either way, it was time for a subject change. Before this turned into something Matt and John needed to excuse themselves from seeing. In all the time Matt had been working for Trevor Belmont, he’d never had to deal with flings or angry exes, drunken parties or risky outlandish behavior. Looked like his good fortune was all coming back to haunt him now. All packed into a single week.

“Just for health and wellness reasons, what drugs are you actually on?” Matt asked. He raised his hands up in a non threatening way. “No judgements from us. We just need to know how to…make sure you’re well.”

“Subtle,” John muttered under his breath. Matt shot him a look. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

Geralt snorted while Trevor and Eskel collapsed into giggles. Belmont Sr. didn’t really express a great deal, but Matt could tell from the slight crinkle of his eyes that he was entertained.

“You needn’t worry,” Trevor said finally. He’d laughed so much that Eskel had to wipe the water from his eyes. Matt tried very hard not to think about how it was _Eskel_ doing that, and not Trevor. “It is nothing that will ever interfere with my work.”

“Is it addictive?” John asked quietly.

“Very,” Trevor said with a happy sigh. “I could go without it if need be, and have for most of my life. But no one seems to want me to.”

Great, so it’s some designer drug Matt didn’t know anything about. 

“You deny yourself everything,” Belmont Sr. rumbled from behind Matt. 

It was very hard not to turn his chair to keep Belmont Sr. in his direct line of sight all the time. God, but that man was creepy. 

“I do not need these things,” Trevor said, shaking his head. He looked up to Belmont Sr., his expression soft. “I used to think that I shouldn’t have any pleasure. I didn’t deserve it. But you make me reconsider. All three of you.”

As much as Matt wanted to murder Belmont Sr. for addicting his son to drugs, he had to admit that the opposite view was damaging, too. It was intensely sad to know that his kind hearted boss didn’t think he deserved basic happiness. After everything he’d done. 

Belmont Sr. could have picked something better than a methamphetamine cocktail to drive his point home though. 

“We need to take you out to a movie,” Eskel said, nodding. “The internet says that there are places that play them projected up on a large wall. You can sit in the dark with a bunch of other people and watch.”

“Like a strip show,” Geralt added helpfully.

“Noooooo,” Trevor moaned, shoving his face into Eskel’s abs. “You just want to see more Alucard the Vampire movies and that is _so mean_.”

“Oh, we’d make it worth your while,” Geralt leered at him. But the expression was lost on Trevor, who was still busy hiding in Eskel’s overabundant muscles.

“You always do,” Trevor murmured before bursting into giggles, still holding onto Eskel’s stomach.

“Oh Gods.” Eskel let his head drop back onto the headboard behind him. He held Trevor tightly for a moment, his dinner plate long forgotten on the bed. “You are not helping us stay presentable, pretty wolf.” Then he shook his head, his brow furrowing. “Trevor.”

“You know, if you need, I’m sure Iga would be happy to come up here and blow you?” Geralt offered. 

“_No_,” Trevor said viciously. The vehemence of the response was a little shocking. He lifted up his head to look at Geralt, glaring a little. “Eskel is mine,” he declared, wrapping himself more tightly around the witcher.

_Oh god_, Matt thought with mild shock. _How did I never realize just how gay my boss is._

Didn’t he have a wife? Was he always bi? Or did he discover this after she passed away? To be honest, Matt had never really thought much about it. Trevor didn’t seem interested in anyone, men or women. It wasn’t an issue with Matt either way, but it was a bit of a surprise to see this aspect of Trevor’s personality. 

“Calm down, grumpy wolf,” Geralt said reaching out a hand to pat Trevor’s shoulder. Trevor made a grumbly, muffled sound into Eskel’s skin.

“You never minded before,” Eskel said quietly.

“That might be my influence,” Belmont Sr. said from his dark corner. He sounded very pleased with the fact.

“You are creepily possessive,” Eskel said, looking down at his chest. 

For some reason, Matt got the sneaking suspicion that he wasn’t looking at how Trevor was curled up very nearly on his lap. Whatever Eskel was thinking of only held his attention for a moment, and then he dragged a hand through Trevor’s hair and scraped his fingers along the scalp. The effect was almost instantaneous as Trevor went boneless against him, sighing softly.

“Yes, do that more,” Trevor said happily. Eskel’s eyes drooped with pleasure at the same time, like the mere sensation of his hand in Trevor’s hair was overwhelming.

Wow, what were they even on?

“It’s one of my better qualities.” Now Belmont Sr. sounded even more amused. Matt was terrified that he was serious, too.

“Are you experiencing hallucinations?” John asked, reading off of his phone. “Paranoia? Rapid heart beat?”

“Slower heartbeat,” Eskel said, leaning in to curl around Trevor, cradling him. That was when Matt noticed one of Eskel’s hands was under Trevor’s robe, stroking up and down his back. “It’s under control though. I can keep it going.”

John and Matt shared a worried look. Maybe overdose was an issue. What was extra concerning was that Geralt looked worried, too.

“Marked decrease in paranoia,” Eskel continued. “I can’t even keep track of all the exits.” He looked up to Belmont Senior. His eyes were wide and completely unfocused. “But that’s alright. I don’t have to right now, and that’s very nice.”

“So nice,” Trevor echoed softly from the cage of Eskel’s arms. “Father will guard us. Nothing would dare attack while he’s here.”

Eskel’s eyes drifted closed and he buried his nose in Trevor’s hair, inhaling deeply. “He makes us feel safe,” he mumbled.

As horrifying as that statement was, Matt had to consider the context. Eskel and Geralt were monster hunters. Even if Matt didn’t want to believe them when they told him so, he saw the evidence with his own eyes. The weapons and the armor. The mind boggling skill with blades and the physical enhancements. And then there were all the scars. Geralt was too bandaged to really see anything, but Eskel was covered in them. Most looked like claw and bite marks. All of them looked like they’d been debilitating wounds.

The Belmonts were famous for being champions against evil, and Gabriel Belmont in particular was both dangerous and shockingly intimidating. It almost made sense that Eskel would find the patronage of such a person comforting.

Or he could just be fucking brainwashed and addicted to designer drugs. 

As if to emphasize the point, Belmont Sr. added, “I will keep you safe.”

His words rang with solemn promise, and Matt absolutely believed him. Gabriel Belmont would do literally anything to protect them. The simple idea of that sent a shiver down Matt’s back.

Belmont Sr.’s statement had a visible effect on the group on the bed. Trevor and Eskel obviously sagged a little further down, both humming happily. Geralt was subtler, but even he got a pleased twist to his mouth.

“...Hallucinations?” John asked after a quiet moment. 

“No,” Trevor said, still rubbing his face happily against Eskel’s chest. He’d squirmed around again so that one arm could sneak out to gently train up Geralt’s side. “Everything looks as it always does.”

“None for me either,” Eskel said.

That was a relief.

“Though I can see Trevor’s power now,” he added, his gaze darted around the room. “It’s like smoke, everywhere here.”

_Shit, nevermind_.

Matt held back a wince. The last fucking thing he needed was a murder machine like Eskel hallucinating. 

He got up to get a few bottles of water. The best thing they could do was stay hydrated. He set two next to Eskel, who was too busy staring into nothing to notice him, and walked around to hand one to Geralt. 

“More please?” Geralt asked, handing him back the empty plate. 

“Coming up,” he said, and went to pile more food onto it.

“What else is different?” Belmont Sr. asked, leaning forward a bit in his chair. He rested his chin on one fist, and for a moment it _almost_ looked like his eyes were a brighter red than they should be. 

It had to be some weird trick of the light. That happened with Eskel and Geralt’s eyes often enough. Something about how the light reflected in the back of the eye. Spooky as hell, but it sort of made sense given that they had cat’s eyes.

“Hard to tell.” Eskel’s voice was a little muddled. “It’s really hard to think right now.” A little moue of frustration pulled at his lips and his furrowed his brow. “The city feels different. I could feel the demonic energy here before, but now there are all these...these threads. Part of it is Trevor, but it’s mixed in with other stuff. People maybe?” His face twisted into a wince. “It’s hard to think about.”

“That’s how the city always looks,” Trevor added, suddenly making Matt rethink his stance on Trevor and hallucinations. 

Trevor squirmed around again, shifting so that he could smooth one hand down Eskel’s cheek. No matter how much he looked at it, Matt still found it profoundly odd to see his boss quite so touchy-feely. 

“It’s alright,” Trevor said comfortingly. “It’s very big, I know. It helps if you only look at small parts of it, and he won’t mind if you can’t look all at once.”

Eskel leaned into the hand on his cheek and let his eyes flutter closed. 

“You are doing well,” Belmont Sr. praised quietly, still watching his son entwined around his…Eskel? Matt’s head was hurting trying to figure out what Eskel was to Trevor and Gabriel Belmont. They obviously trusted him, and it looked like Trevor was sleeping with him. And possibly Belmont Sr., too. 

Matt…had no idea how that worked.

The tension drained out of Eskel and his face relaxed. He buried his nose again into Trevor’s hair and stayed there for a minute, absently rubbing one hand up and down Trevor’s silk clad back. It was frightening just how much influence Belmont Sr. had over him. Matt couldn’t help but wonder what Belmont Sr. did with that power. 

“...So I’m gonna mark hallucinations as a ‘maybe’,” John said quietly. 

“Everything is fine, John,” Trevor said, nearly snickering. “We’ll bear no ill effects from this. Eskel’s heart stopped for a little bit, but Father fixed that. He’s all better now.” 

With that, Trevor reached his arms around Eskel and squeezed tight. It was enough that Eskel started to giggle a little himself.

Meanwhile, Geralt was giving John and Matt a look that had to be near identical to the ones they were wearing. Tight lipped worry. 

So Eskel overdosed, which was terrifying considering what he and Geralt were capable of withstanding physically, but Belmont Sr. fixed that somehow. Maybe an adrenaline shot to the heart? Did he have such things on hand? Anything seemed possible. 

Matt found himself desperate to ask if Belmont Sr. was selling this drug on the streets, but he knew damn well he couldn’t. Not only would that put him in a legal world of hurt and destroy his plausible deniability, but it would also put him at risk. People asking nosey questions to drug lords seldom lived long and peaceful lives. 

“It was an accident,” Belmont Sr. said unexpectedly. “Eskel shouldn’t have been affected.” He waved his hand as if pushing away the issue of Eskel nearly dying. “He’ll be alright.”

While that reassurance seemed to ease some of Geralt’s tension, it did nothing to make Matt feel better. 

“I think I might be a little drunk,” Eskel proclaimed seriously.

“Brother, you are wasted.” Geralt huffed out a laugh. “Gods, the stupid shit we’ve gotten into while drunk.”

That made Eskel perk up a little. “Trevor. When was the last time you were drunk?”

Trevor struggled a bit to look up at him, his face scrunched in concentration. “Drunk? Drunk on wine drunk?” He blinked once, letting his eyes stay closed for a solid two seconds. “...I cannot remember. The Church didn’t allow it when I was young, and after that I was too busy fighting.”

_Too busy fighting._

God, what even was Trevor’s younger life like?

“There was wine at my wedding,” Trevor continued on. “Such as it was. But we were children, barely old enough to wed. We shared our sacred cup and that was it.” A wistful, little smile pulled at his lips. “Sypha.”

“She was beautiful,” Eskel said, for the life of him sounding surprised and awed in equal measure. “Gods, and young!”

Matt was surprised at the fact that both Belmont Sr. and Geralt perked up. Belmont Sr. leaned forward just a touch, though his expression was hard to read. Did they really not know any details about Trevor’s marriage?

“Mmhmmm,” Trevor murmured. One finger traced little circles across one of the scars on Eskel’s chest. He stared off into the distance like he was staring into the past. “And a true redhead.” He giggled. “She had a temper on her. But she was funny and smart, too. She was so _alive_.”

His smile stretched a little wider, but there was an intense sadness to it as well. Whoever Trevor was involved with now, it was obvious he loved his wife and missed her a great deal. Matt couldn’t imagine it. Being Trevor’s age and having already lost a family.

Eskel was staring off into nothing as well, his eyes wide and a touch watery. “Your son looked like her.”

“Yes.” There was a fierce pride in that word. “For all that he never got to really get to know either of his parents.”

Belmont Sr. leaned back, his interested expression shuttered, and his eyes went hooded. The movement drew Geralt’s gaze to him and his eyebrows wrinkled in worry. Which was a very odd response. It implied something, some history that Matt wasn’t sure he had a good handle on. Maybe it was just the fact that Trevor was taken from Belmont Sr. as a child, too.

“My little Simon was the cutest baby,” Trevor said, smiling broader. A single tear dripped down his cheek, and Eskel wiped it away absently. “He had the biggest smile. He was even cute when he was frowning. Sypha teased me for saying so, but it was true. They took him and Sypha when he was little, for protection they said.”

Trevor fell silent after that, lost in his memories. Eskel ran a hand through his hair, petting him. 

“I’m sorry,” Eskel said, looking as close to tears as Trevor was. “I’m so sorry.”

Belmont Sr. stood up and moved closer to the windows, leaning against them with his arms folded. He was still watching his son, but between the deeper shadows there and his hair falling forward, it was hard to see his face.

“It was a very long time ago,” Trevor said softly. A short huff of a laugh escaped him. “Sypha was a bit of a hellraiser. It ran in her family.”

Something in that made Eskel chuckle softly. “I can see that. Have you ever considered that you have a type?”

That would explain the witchers. Assuming Trevor really was sleeping with them, which was looking more and more likely.

“It was an arranged marriage,” Trevor said, snickering. The snickering turned to chuckling, and for some reason Eskel joined in. Probably because laughter is contagious when drunk. Or stoned, apparently.

“Oh gods, she stole _that_?” Eskel whispered, somewhat nonsensically. 

The way he spoke of her, it made Matt wonder if Eskel knew her. Maybe that was how they all met. But that explanation didn’t quite fit; Eskel sounded too surprised.

“The Archbishop didn’t need it,” Trevor said innocently. The effect was ruined by his barely concealed laughter. 

Eskel slowed his petting down, cradling Trevor’s jaw. “I’m glad you have good memories.”

“Some.” Trevor looked up to Eskel, finally seeming to drag himself back to the present. “Many more now, though. Since we fixed things. I find myself happier now than I have ever been.”

“Pretty wolf,” Geralt said softly and shifted a little closer to them, though the move clearly pained him. It was just enough to keep one hand on Trevor’s hip.

Trevor rubbed his nose against Eskel’s skin and hummed a little under his breath.

“And you, when was the last time you got properly drunk?” Trevor asked, lazy and slow, his words not much more than just a breath.

“Vodka, beer, and a few of Lambert’s potions mixed up,” Eskel said with a groan. “Never drink his cocktails.” He was impressively serious, looking at Trevor like a worried father. “_Never_. Because next thing you know you’re dressed in Yen’s clothes and trying to call some girls over but instead of girls, Geralt only manages to get some old, wrinkly guy.”

“Oh gods, why would you bring that up,” Geralt moaned, covering his face with one hand. “She was so mad...”

Whatever else Geralt said was lost under the howling laughter from Trevor. He had to shove his head into Eskel’s shoulder just to stem the flow, but by that time Eskel had started to snicker, too.

“Geralt,” Trevor wheezed. “You in those tights. With the lace!”

The sigh that Geralt let out was deep and pained. Belmont Sr. turned his head to watch him and he let his arms relax. He even shifted slightly towards the bed again.

“Yennefer’s clothes are very girly.” Eskel made a face. “And have way too many holes.”

“Holes?” Belmont Sr. asked. “What did you wear?”

Eskel groaned and covered his eyes with his free palm.

“A strapless dress,” Geralt informed Belmont Sr. with a grin. “His shoulders all sexily exposed.” Geralt was giggling so hard he was wincing from it.

“Better than your tights,” Eskel grumbled, but there was a laugh suppressed in his voice, too.

“You think I don't have the ass for it?” Geralt asked. “Everybody knows my hip bones are to die for!”

“Those things were so tight I’m surprised you could even breathe, let alone talk in anything lower than a soprano.” Eskel looked to Matt and nodded seriously. “Men’s hose has room for the goods. Yen’s did not.”

That was far, far more information than Matt ever wanted to know. He had to take a moment to blink just to keep himself from facepalming.

Geralt laughed.

“It just keeps in line with her character!”

Matt narrowed his eyes in confusion, but Eskel practically rolled with laugher. 

“She does like to keep men in line with a firm grip on their balls,” Eskel snickered. Just to emphasize the point he held up a hand and crooked his fingers into claws. Then he shook his head. “Neither of us were as ravishing as Lambert. That dress with the sheer bits on the top.”

“And the hat,” Geralt wheezed, “with the feather.”

Both Eskel and Trevor fell into giggling. 

“This is why she booby traps her bedroom now, you know.” Eskel gave Geralt a wide eyed, knowing look. 

“I feel like I have missed a very important part of your life,” Belmont Sr. said. Whatever dark mood had gripped him before seemed to have dissolved. That was one benefit of the drunken stories, at least. He came back to his chair and sat down and leaned in towards the bed. There was a hint of a smirk around his lips.

That just made Eskel snort in dry amusement. “You say it like it’s over. Gods know terrible shit happens every time we all drink together.”

“Not every time.” Geralt looked a little offended. 

“Most times.”

“Half the time. Tops.”

Eskel just raised his eyebrows, as if to say, _really?_

Matt shared a wide-eyed glance with John, who was curled over his phone. Obviously trying to distract himself from this insanity. Or maybe he was looking up long term side effects of repeated alcohol poisoning. That seemed just as likely.

Whatever disbelief Eskel was trying to express was utterly lost on Geralt. He was too busy shaking his head ruefully, looking off as if in thought.

“Lambert was so annoyed that her color selection didn’t match our complections.” Geralt looked a Belmont Sr., wide eyed and resigned. “She only wears black and white. That was fine on me, but Eskel and Lambert…”

“I am suddenly profoundly grateful that alcohol was banned from the recovery room first thing,” Matt said flatly. 

Geralt groaned.

“We are not so bad!” He protested.

“We kinda are,” Eskel said, snickering. “There are songs.”

“We’re _witchers_,” Geralt said pointedly. “All of us are heavy drinkers. It’s not like we can actually die from it. And we are not even close to as bad as the other schools.”

“Hmm.” Eskel didn’t sound convinced. “And then you wake up in your underwear on a riverbank and spend the day trying to track down your---”

“No,” Geralt said firmly, interrupting him. “No, we don’t need to tell that story. Not even a little.”

But Trevor was still breathless with laughter, now rolling a little with it. “You rode those poor hookers across the river like horses? Really?”

Geralt pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, they were paid well. And happy to be included!”

“And you got yourself a tattoo on your neck, too,” Eskel continued. “Triss still tells the story of how you begged her to get it removed the next morning.”

“I am not the only one in this bed who has woken up with strange body modifications!” Geralt defended hotly.

Matt was dying a little inside. 

This was like every shore leave gone wrong all wrapped up into a two person package. Three, if he counted the erstwhile Lambert. Eskel was clearly too drugged to remember to be embarrassed about this sort of thing, and god, but Matt was too good an employee to tell them to _shut up_ while they had the chance to save some dignity. Belmont Sr. would be of no help at all; he was still looking on with quiet amusement. 

“John, aside from movies, what else did you come up with for entertainment,” Matt tried, hopeful for a derailment of the subject.

“Spa trip?” John said hopefully. “Mr. Belmont, I know you have a very specific way you enjoy your hair being done, but a good spa will be able to give you a scalp massage, wash, and relaxation treatment.”

“People touching me.” Trevor shuddered and pressed his face into Eskel’s stomach again.

An interesting response. But it made sense once Matt thought about it. Trevor didn’t invite touch, present situation excluded. Since that was a common enough preference for the wealthy, Matt had ignored it. But maybe there was something else going on here. 

Hell, maybe John really should look up a good therapist for their boss. Then again, given the ongoing situation, would it even really help? It was hard to diagnose and treat trauma and abuse when the trauma and abuse were still ongoing. 

Eskel was leaning sideways a little, and had been for a while now. At this rate, Matt estimated that he might actually fall off the bed at some point since he was leaning pretty hard towards the edge. Trevor clung to his side, ineffectually holding him in place.

It was enough that Matt had to go rescue the now-empty plate before it crashed to the floor. Neither Eskel or Trevor even seemed to notice.

“Eskel,” Matt said, reaching his hand out towards Eskel’s naked shoulder. 

Trevor growled before his hand made contact. It was not a sound that Matt had ever heard from his boss before. Low and primal, it was aggressive in a way that was shocking from somebody who was usually so civilized. 

Matt froze just inches from Eskel’s shoulder and looked to Geralt for help. The way Matt’s hair stood on end signified Belmont Sr.’s attention switching to him suddenly. From the feel of the room, it wasn’t kind attention either.

“Not a good idea right now,” Geralt said. He had a smile on his face, but his words held a sharp, warning bite to them. That only set Matt more on edge. Geralt turned his attention to Trevor, smoothing a hand down his silk clad side. “Hey grumpy wolf, Eskel is sliding off the bed.”

“No, I’m not,” Eskel protested, not doing anything to right himself. Matt wasn’t sure the man knew he wasn’t vertical anymore.

“You are almost sideways,” Geralt said, obviously trying hard not to laugh.

“I’m…” Eskel frowned. “A little vertically challenged,” he decided on finally, and started untangling himself from Trevor. Probably to brace himself against the bed and pull up. Only Trevor growled again, low and possessive, and wrapped himself even tighter. 

“Uh.” Eskel looked up to Belmont Sr., his eyes soft and blown by the drugs. “Help?”

Matt couldn’t believe it was Belmont Sr. that Eskel asked for help. Maybe he should have expected it, given how dependent the witchers seemed on him, but it was still _weird_. The idea of Gabriel Belmont being honestly helpful was abhorrent.

Still, Matt knew when retreat was needed. He stepped away quickly, taking the empty plate with him.

Belmont Sr. stood from his chair, moving smooth and slow. His eyes focused on Eskel.

“You really try me sometimes,” Belmont Sr. murmured as he stepped closer. Eskel’s eyes widened. 

“I don’t mean to?” Eskel said, looking a little worried. He shook his head and made a better effort to straighten up. He was still uncoordinated as hell, so it wasn’t a very good effort. “I can do it, you don’t need to.”

“Shush,” Belmont Sr. said. “It’s not a bad thing.” He approached the bed. His strange eyes flickered from Eskel to Trevor and back. For all the vaguely threatening words, he seemed rather pleased.

Matt tried to disappear into his chair for a minute. Whatever Eskel was on had to be fantastic as well as mind numbing, because Matt could actually see how hungry Belmont Sr. was. It was something in his eyes and the slow, careful way he moved. John shot him a wide-eyed look. It was going to be a drinks after work night. Without question.

Belmont Sr. sat down at the edge of the bed, close enough that his thigh was pressed against Eskel’s hip. Then he put his hand on Trevor’s head, and the low, near constant growl cut out suddenly.

“Father,” Trevor breathed, lifting his head a little, arching into the touch like a cat.

“Come here for a moment,” Belmont Sr. invited, stretching his other arm toward his son.

He didn’t quite wait for Trevor to agree. Instead he reached under Trevor’s chest and lifted him off of Eskel as easily as if he was just a little kid. 

Trevor went…limp. Totally and absolutely limp, letting Belmont Sr. manhandle him as if he was _used_ to it.

What was even more disturbing was how Eskel looked like Belmont Sr. was ripping away his skin. He cringed and let himself lay boneless on the bed, immobile and eyes wide and watering. 

“Cold,” he said softly. His hand lay loose on the sheets, stretched towards Belmont Sr. and Trevor.

Trevor shifted in his father’s arms, rubbing his cheek against the arm holding him up. He made a low, confused sound, his eyes closed.

“I’m going to give you back to Eskel now, take care of him for me.”

A little of the worry went out of Eskel’s face, but he still looked back and forth between Trevor and Belmont Senior. Tension crawled over him and he rubbed his hands on his arms clumsily, as if he were trying to force some heat into them. Geralt reached over, wincing when the movement pulled at his wounds, and put a hand on Eskel’s hip; the closest, easiest part that he could probably get to, given his limited mobility. That seemed to settle Eskel a little, but he still looked like someone killed his cat.

“Eskel,” Trevor murmured and kind of oozed towards the witcher, slipping through Belmont Sr.’s hands and back onto Eskel.

Belmont Sr. chuckled; his eyes crinkled in mirth as he arranged Trevor on top of Eskel’s chest. There was something very discomforting in the way he moved his son, a strange familiarity with his body that gave Matt hives. 

Eskel seemed absolutely unsurprised at Belmont Sr. manhandling Trevor. He merely reached out to him and wrapped his arms around Trevor’s shoulders. The moment they touched, they both sighed in relief.

Once Trevor was settled, Belmont Sr. moved them both with ease, straightening Eskel out so he was reclined more naturally. The casual show of strength made Matt promise himself to never, ever stay in range of Gabriel Belmont’s arms. The man could probably break him like a toothpick.

“I think I’m about ready for another nap,” Geralt sighed. “As if I didn’t sleep enough already.”

“Of course,” John said, smoothly professional. He stood up and placed a tablet on the end table next to the bed. “This has a summary of the last few days' business, whenever Mr. Belmont feels up to looking at it.” 

Matt was already out of his seat, waiting to walk out with John. As much as he was loath to leave them all alone, he was very done with dealing with this bit of strangeness. “Let us know if you need anything else,” he said.

“Sure,” Geralt yawned again, looking hilariously grumpy at himself.

Trevor hummed at them, but Eskel didn’t even bother with that. He already looked half asleep. Belmont Sr. still hadn’t moved off the bed, a fact that itched at the back of Matt’s brain. It shouldn’t be creepy. He was helping two very inebriated people get settled to sleep. And yet Matt was thoroughly creeped out. He wished he could separate Belmont Sr. from them, but that was a long lost battle. 

Time to go. 

The moment the door shut behind them, Matt and John just stared at each other in shock. 

“Usual table tonight?” Matt asked finally.

“God, yes.” John nodded, eyes wide.

\---

Alucard woke up slowly, feeling unusually warm. As he stretched, he realized he was wrapped around a warm, living body.

“Geralt?” he murmured with a smile, rubbing his cheek against the warm skin.

“No.” Geralt’s voice came from behind him. “It’s not my pecs that you have been fondling for hours on end, no.” He sounded half grumpy, half mirthful. 

Alucard raised his head and blew his hair away from his eyes to look down at the owner of the well developed chest he was in fact, fondling.

Eskel blinked at him with eyes lacking their usual sharpness.

“Eskel?” 

Eskel smiled, wide, happy, and completely high. “Hi!”

Alucard looked wide-eyed from Eskel to Geralt, who was reclining against the headboard next to them.

“Don’t look at me, you're the one who made him this way,” Geralt said, shaking his head. 

_I did what?_

Then it hit him. The memory of drinking down his Father’s blood, taking in far more than he ever had before. Eskel, warm and wonderful and so tired and worn beside him. Pouring power into him, just as they did back in Steingard’s dungeon.

Oh no.

Eskel’s heart stopping under him. 

Alucard had killed him. Stopped his heart, stopped his breath. Only Dracula’s arms pulling him away and his command directly to Eskel’s soul had saved the witcher. Alucard suspected that was only possible due to the deal Dracula sneaked on Eskel.

Crushing guilt flooded him and he clutched Eskel close, wrapping his arms around that warm, squirming, _alive_ body. 

“Oh, no, Trevor,” Eskel said softly. “No, don’t feel bad. Everything’s alright.” He ran his hands up and down Alucard’s back and buried his nose into Alucard’s hair. “Everything is _wonderful_.”

Then the second realization hit. He could actually _feel_ how happy Eskel was. In his heart, like a tugging deep inside of him. It wasn’t just that Eskel was happy; he was also completely sauced on the power bubbling inside of him. Horny and high, with every cell of his body singing pleasure at touching Alucard. 

“Oh. Oh hell,” Alucard said softly, panicking a little. What had he done?

But he couldn’t even sit and panic in peace. Now that his brain was working again, he promptly remembered what a damn fool of himself he made in front of both Matt and John. Touching Eskel like that. Rubbing up to him and giggling like a child. Hand feeding him, for god’s sake. _Growling_ at them. 

Mortification burned through him, adding to the guilt and upset, and he buried his head into Eskel’s chest. 

“Oh _hell_,” Alucard groaned, which only made Eskel purr into him and stroke his hair.

He stayed there for a moment, hoping that the feeling might pass. It didn’t. God, he was going to have to look at Matt and John in the face soon and try to be serious. 

Another pulse of pleasure from Eskel echoed through him, forcing his mind to scramble again. Eskel. He did this to Eskel. That was far, far worse than any loss of face could ever be.

“What did I do?” he asked softly. The question was mostly to himself, but if Geralt or Dracula had an answer he wouldn’t have minded a little bit of enlightenment. 

“You breathed your power into him. A rather lot of it,” Dracula said helpfully.

“I’m so horny,” Eskel sighed, squirming in place. “It’s been _hours_.”

Alucard could very much tell. Not only could he feel Eskel’s burning need, but he was also pressed very firmly up against Eskel’s hips. Right into his hard cock. They were so damn close that every little twist and fidget rubbed them together a little more. Not only that, but the memory of the past day flooded into him. They’d been rubbing up against each other like this for a very long time.

Alucard’s own lust had faded down, and his skin hunger had dampened to a normal level; something he barely noticed. Eskel was hot against him though, alive and moving, and his desire echoed gently in the back of Alucard’s mind.

“How are you feeling?” Dracula asked curiously. 

“Better,” Alucard said. That wasn’t completely right. He felt better than he could remember in a long time. He tried to assess his physical capabilities, as much as he could given the situation. “I feel rested.” Eskel’s hand drifted down to his lower back, only to lightly scratch up his spine. That sensation was chased by the humming, sleepy glee that radiated from Eskel’s mind. “And yet, in some ways I feel so much worse,” he groaned.

What the hell had he done to them?

“I love your skin,” Eskel said softly. “It feels so good. So nice.”

That it did. 

He felt himself start reacting to the contact, to the pleasure of the touch and the echoes of Eskel’s lust and pleasure in his mind. Alucard pulled away, just enough that he wasn’t pressed against Eskel’s cock. A sad little noise escaped Eskel’s throat, but he didn’t protest other than that. 

“Father.” Alucard tried to shift in place to get a look around the room, but it was difficult with how he was wrapped up around Eskel’s body. 

“Yes?” There were many things in Dracula’s voice, amusement, curiosity, possessiveness, and a thousand other, darker emotions that made his words rattle strangely through Alucard’s brain.

Still, this newly forged bond to Eskel pulsed against Alucard’s senses. Part of it had to be the power that was still in Eskel’s body. How much of what he was feeling was due to that was hard to say, but it was quickly becoming an issue. The longer they shared feelings and sensations, the more likely Alucard would be to give into them. Honestly, he was a little shocked they hadn’t fucked already. Probably the only thing that had stopped them was the bone deep sloth that came from being so high on power. Now that Alucard wasn’t so afflicted, he could see the issue for what it was. 

Eskel may have said he might be open to the possibility of sex with men, Alucard and Dracula in specific, but that was a far cry from actual willingness to do the act. The very last thing Alucard wanted to do was take advantage of Eskel while he couldn’t help himself. 

“Father, will you drink from him?” Alucard asked. He closed his eyes and breathed out hard, trying to ignore the skin craving that was thrumming through Eskel and into him. “The power needs to be let out. And I…” 

He didn’t want to drink Eskel’s blood. Or rather, he was tempted, but temptation wasn’t enough to convince him to do it. Sex would release the power, too, but that was another thing that was out of bounds because Eskel wasn’t ready for it. 

He couldn’t do it. Not now, not when he could all but taste the changes he wrought in Eskel without ever asking him for consent. Even his Father was better; at least he mostly got Eskel to agree to what he did to the witcher. 

Guilt burned at him. 

“Please,” Alucard implored softly. 

“You don’t need to beg,” Dracula said, coming closer. “I will always want to drink from him.” Alucard shuddered as he felt a touch to the back of his head. “He tastes so lovely.”

“As much as it pains me to say this, maybe you should take him into the other room,” Geralt said, sounding a little resigned. “He maybe wouldn’t want an audience.”

Dracula hummed thoughtfully.

“He wouldn’t,” Dracula agreed. “I hope he thanks you later, because I could as well devour him right here.” He was already bending down and reaching for Eskel. 

Alucard rolled away, keenly feeling the loss. He couldn’t quite tell if it was just him feeling that, or both their reactions mixing together.

He scooched closer to Geralt, and hugged him as tight as he dared in an act of self defense. Alucard didn’t like being separated from Eskel one bit, but being wrapped around Geralt’s warm body helped ease the ache. 

As Dracula and Eskel moved away, Alucard buried his face farther into the pillow next to Geralt’s head. 

“You gonna be alright, pretty wolf?” Geralt asked quietly, one hand stroking down his side.

“It isn’t me I’m worried about,” Alucard replied softly.

Whatever bond Alucard had accidentally forged, it was still something of magic. Thus Alucard could influence it. 

_He hoped_. 

He closed his eyes and focused, trying to dampen the connection between them. Even he wouldn’t know how much of it would be permanent, not until Dracula had drained all of the excess power out of Eskel’s body. Until then, Alucard would just have to try his best.

\---

Eskel was being picked up. Carried. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been carried. No, wait. He could. It was back in the dungeon, as they were escaping. The feeling was damn near the same, too, because he’d been high out of his mind then as well.

Being pulled away from Alucard was more painful than he would ever admit, but Dracula’s touch was almost as nice. It felt good; his skin prickled with the sensation. He arched into it, exhaling sharply. His cock jerked inside his pants and the familiar scent of burning embers and power filled his nostrils.

It seemed like only a heartbeat or two had passed and they were in the bathroom. If one could even call the room that; it was larger than most inn rooms Eskel had stayed at, and far more nicely furnished. 

He was set down onto his feet, but his legs were wobbly like a newborn foal and they buckled under him. He flailed, trying to gain purchase and found himself again held up by Dracula.

The vampire was behind him, with one powerful arm wrapped around Eskel’s upper body to keep him steady. His breath fanned Eskel’s ear.

“I have you.” Somehow, the words weren’t reassuring at all.

Dracula’s body was hot and strong behind him, and his wide torso pressed tightly against Eskel’s back. The arm around Eskel’s chest felt like a steel band, unmovable and unyielding. It felt reassuring, too; Eskel’s skin crawled with the need to be held.

“Please,” Eskel groaned. He didn’t even know what he was asking for. If it was the bite or the pleasure he wanted, he didn’t know. All he knew was that his cock was hard, his heart was pounding, and all he could think of was how much he wanted to be touched. He was utterly aware of the slightest movement, of every shift of air against his heated skin. He could feel the way Dracula’s breath fanned his ear and neck. “I can’t---”

“I’m going to make you feel better,” Dracula promised, his hot breath waking shivers up and down Eskel’s neck. 

Eskel whined when he felt the brush of lips against his skin. Tilting his head to give Dracula more access was an ingrained instinct by now. He swore he could feel the smile on Dracula’s lips just a heartbeat before the vampire bit down.

The hint of pain came first, like it always did, but this time it was almost impossible for Eskel to distinguish it from the sheer joy of being touched. 

He was so full of power, like the ghost of Alucard’s presence was still with him. As soon as those wickedly sharp teeth pierced his skin, the energy rose up inside of him, trying to flood out as quickly as possible. He was dizzy with it; his skin prickled and his body twitched with the rush of feeling. 

With that bite came a sharp thrust of pleasure. It felt like it surged in directly from Dracula’s mouth, pulsing through his body downward with every slow suck. His whole being vibrated with it, as if he’d been struck, and he arched up in Dracula’s grip. His knees were weak, and his legs wobbly. 

Dracula’s other hand moved to cover Eskel’s belly. His fingers spread out and pressed at Eskel, dragging them even closer together. Eskel couldn’t move. He had no leverage at all, and was hanging completely off Dracula’s grip. In some distant part of his mind, he could tell he was holding on to Dracula’s arms for dear life, and that his fingers dug in tightly to the soft black sleeves of Dracula’s dress shirt. 

The mouth on his neck was hot and wet, and each slow draw pulled at every part of his body. It couldn’t have been very much blood; the sensation was too slow, too teasing for that. Like a long, slow lick up his every inch of his skin and right into Dracula’s mouth. Each suck made Eskel’s body tighten up. He pulsed with it, rocking into the pleasure without any cognisant thought. With every clench down, he tried to rock forward a little, giving his aching cock something to grind on. But there was nothing. Only the cruelly tight fabric of his pants, keeping him so firmly in place, just as binding as Dracula’s arms around him.

The hand on his stomach tightened and kneaded right along with every clench and slow twist, both of them moving in time to Dracula’s drinking. Pleasure came in waves, and with each crest Dracula tightened his grip and his bite every so slightly, keeping Eskel in place. Giving him something to struggle against. Everything else had long since faded from Eskel’s mind. Even the room around him was lost to the sheer power of what was happening to his body. He was burning up. Sweat prickled along his skin and the mark on his chest felt like a brand. 

The relief of the power being drained off of him was heady, like the pressure on something ready to burst being eased away. The itch under his skin, the crawling sensation that Eskel would go insane without being touched every second, let up so suddenly that he could feel his eyes rolling back.

The relief was treacherous, though. It let him relax. It let him sag in Dracula’s powerful hold. It made him forget, for just a second, to guard against the pleasure pushed into his body with every slow suck.

The orgasm took him by surprise. He gasped out a strangled little sound and tensed against the hold Dracula had on him. In that moment he wasn’t thinking. His mind was an absolute blank as pleasure rolled over him, making the whole world narrow down to this moment. He spasmed and jerked as the pleasure crested.

As soon as it started, the bite at his neck sharpened, going deeper and harder. The bliss being pushed into him thrust down harder as well, drawing out his release and forcing him to come over and over. He might have cried out, or maybe he was whimpering with it. The air in his throat was harsh, and his mouth felt dry, but all of that was a distant second to his pleasure. Wetness spread down his groin and leg as he came, spurt after spurt. He tried to jerk into it, to rub against something, anything, but the arms around him only gripped him tighter. The hand on his belly dug in, fingers almost, _almost_, touching where he needed, so close to dipping into his pants that the fingers slipped into the waistband. 

He came until he was nearly breathless. Every part of his body wrung out so completely that he lay limp in Dracula’s arms. 

After the slow finish, when those last few drops were wrung out of him, the knowledge of what just happened flooded into its place. 

Shame burned through him, so hot that his eyes prickled with tears. He let his head fall forward. His hair covering his face and he wished he could hide. _Run_. Anything but be here, so exposed.

He’d come in Dracula’s arms. The man hadn’t even touched him, and Eskel had still come. After such a long time of making sure to never take their relationship to this place, of telling everyone that he wasn’t interested in sex, that he didn’t want this to be sexual, here it was. His own body had betrayed him and made it something beyond comfort, beyond feeding. 

Eskel felt like he’d broken something. A rule. Or maybe just himself. He was so powerfully ashamed. Mortified that he couldn’t control himself, and horrified and unhappy that he didn’t chose to make this happen.

Dracula was making a low, deep sound in his chest. It felt like he was purring, the vibration of it travelling right through Eskel’s chest where they were pressed together.

“Yes,” he purred right into Eskel’s ear, pressing the cheek to the side of Eskel’s face. “So good for me, so pretty.”

The hand on his belly moved in slow circles, strong and possessive.

A strangled little sob escaped Eskel as he tried to cringe inward. He wanted to say how sorry he was, but his throat burned and words were impossible. 

The arms around him tightened, and Dracula rubbed his cheek along Eskel’s jaw. There was a faint stirring of air as Dracula breathed in deeply, taking in his scent. 

“So very pretty,” Dracula whispered. “So good. You did well. I am so pleased.”

The soft words slowly filtered in as Eskel tried to catch his breath.

He didn’t know what he was feeling, his body and mind abuzz with conflicting sensations. There were still echoes of pleasure firing up every so often while his mind reeled, taken over by the drastic reaction. He felt cold and shivery, almost confused at the rapid change in what he was experiencing. 

“So pretty, and all _mine_,” Dracula sounded so pleased, lazy and warm, and purring like some kind of big cat as he rubbed his face against Eskel. “Such a nice surprise for me.”

In between every whispered reassurance, there was the sensation of Dracula dragging his nose over Eskel’s skin and breathing in. Taking in his scent, and the scent of his release, Eskel realized. Savoring it. 

A little bit of the tension that had built up fluttered away, and Eskel found himself trying to get closer, trying to press into Dracula’s embrace. Dracula wasn’t upset with him. He was comforting Eskel, soothing him. Some of the shame fled as well under the weight of Dracula’s words. 

“So beautiful.” Dracula bit down gently, with blunt teeth on Eskel’s neck. “So tasty, feeling you give in.” Now his teeth were no longer blunt, and the sharp tips of his fangs dragging over Eskel’s sensitive skin. “So good for me.”

His fangs went in again, slow and deep, parting Eskel’s flesh easily. The flash of pain was soon lost in the pleasure of the bite, as Dracula sucked slowly, easily at his neck. This time, the pulse of sensation was slower, deeper, wrenching another helpless moan out of Eskel’s throat. His legs gave out completely and his head fell back, giving Dracula room to do as he pleased. 

Eskel clung feebly to Dracula’s arms around him and his eyes rolled back, fluttering with bliss. Again, his body was overcome with a slow, throbbing pleasure. His skin felt tight and his cock twitched inside his rough, wet jeans. There was no strength left in him to writhe around. All he could do was take it. 

He barely noticed it when Dracula pulled away from the bite. Even though his fangs no longer pierced Eskel’s skin, his lips dragged over the wet skin there.

“Do you want to come again?” Dracula asked between licks, hot and firm behind him, his breath fanning over Eskel’s sweaty skin.

It took a minute for the question to sink in, for Eskel to make some sense of the words. 

He shook his head, as a little bit of the distress and shame came back. Every limb felt like it weighed a thousand pounds, and he still hadn’t opened his eyes, but he still tried to twist a little in place. Eskel wanted to hide, to bury his face in Dracula’s neck and let that burning scent fill him up. 

“There’s no need to feel ashamed,” Dracula whispered. “You did well, so well for me.”

A little more of his aching embarrassment slipped away under Dracula’s praise.

“I tried not to come,” Eskel whispered. “I didn’t mean to…” Oh, how little control he had if even his own body wouldn’t pay attention to what he wanted. He should have been able to keep himself in line. That was what witchers were good at, wasn’t it?

He shifted again, finally able to get his face buried into Dracula’s neck.

“I make it feel good,” Dracula said, pulling them lower, onto the floor. “But only for those that I care for, only the chosen ones.”

A shudder raced through Eskel’s body, and he nodded. “It felt good. So good.” Another piece of his resolve broke off and crumbled under the attention Dracula was giving him. He felt shaky inside, trembling and weak, and oh-so raw. 

He was sitting on Dracula’s lap, he realized. Both of them were kneeling; Eskel with his legs folded on the outside of Dracula’s. He was spread open over Dracula’s thick thighs. The position exposed him in ways he wasn’t ready to understand yet. He felt shaky and fragile, seesawing between emotions.

“Tell me I did good,” Eskel begged. “Please. I don’t want to feel like I fucked up.” He clung harder, shoving his face further into Dracula’s jaw, letting his eyes be held closed by the pressure of skin on them.

“So good,” Dracula murmured. The hand on Eskel’s belly moved in longer strokes now, travelling from his upper chest down to his lower belly and back again. “You take my bite so well, such a pleasure to feel you, to touch you.” Dracula seemed so pleased, all but purring with it. “You don’t have to deny yourself the pleasure, Eskel.” Dracula’s hand was now over the ever growing mark on Eskel’s chest. It tingled and tugged at something deep inside him. “No need to refuse my gift.” Dracula chuckled into his ear. “You are mine, Eskel. All mine. So good for me, so pretty.”

With every word, a little more tension eased out of Eskel’s body. He was still awash with confusion, but at least Dracula was here telling him everything was alright. The praise lit up waves of latent pleasure inside of him, pushing off the upset for a later time. He curled in tighter towards Dracula’s body, eager to get as much touch as he could. 

As dangerous, terrifying, and often confusing as Dracula was, his embrace meant comfort for Eskel. Whatever else happened, Dracula would keep him safe. Eskel wanted more of that closeness, more of the care and concern. He was desperate for it. The swirling mass of emotions that pounded inside of him were too much to deal with.

He tilted his head, baring his throat again to Dracula, inviting him to bite. 

“Really,” Dracula purred, his delight a physical thing. Then he bit down, lower than before, marking Eskel’s neck in a new place. He sucked, slow and long. He couldn’t have taken much blood but it still sent a thousand flashes of pleasure through Eskel’s body.

Eskel whined and squirmed, and Dracula’s arms tightened to hold him in place. Then he cursed, low and breathy, as Dracula bit again, over his shoulder, sucking noisily and making Eskel’s eyes roll back in his head. His cock, soft now, was twitching helplessly in his soiled pants and his toes were curling at the sensation. His hands were once again locked on Dracula’s arms. He needed something to hold on to, something to ground him in the endless sea of sensation crashing through him, over and over.

He sobbed, blind and deaf to anything but how good this felt, how good Dracula was making him feel. Every doubt and conflicting emotion was banished from him as he floated on the euphoria of those bites. Before he knew it, Dracula had drawn back and bit down again in another spot, making possessive little growls as he drank.

Each bite made Eskel shift and groan, and as he moved in Dracula’s iron grip he could feel himself get hard again. It was both wonderful and uncomfortable, constricted as he was in his sticky, wet pants. A great as it felt, as much as his body lit up with burning arousal, he tried to ignore the need for satisfaction. Instead he focused solely on the pleasure Dracula was giving him. The feel of teeth and tongue on his skin, and the oddly satisfying sensation of being marked. 

Dracula would keep him. Hold him. Care for him and make him safe. Just for this moment, he didn’t have to worry about anything. He could let go.

As soon as those thoughts crossed his mind, Dracula growled, low and primal. He pulled back just long enough to lick a long, hot stripe up Eskel’s neck. Then, finding the perfect spot, he bit down again. _Hard_.

A strangled groan ripped out of Eskel’s mouth and he arched up. He was burning all over, and still Dracula’s mouth scorched his skin. The air was filled with sweat, sex, and the chokingly thick scent of Dracula’s power. 

Before the sensation could overwhelm him, Dracula released his bite. Eskel nearly cried at the feeling of those fangs leaving his flesh, and the slow drag against his skin. He lay limp again in Dracula’s arms, unable to even muster up the energy to care that he couldn’t move.

The sweat slowly dried on his skin and sent shivers all over his body, making him feel cold. His rapidly beating heart pounded in his chest, incrementally slowing. Dracula cuddled him closer while he licked over each one of the bites. 

Fuck, how many of them even were there? Eskel hadn’t managed to keep track. The phantom sensation of teeth and pleasure still ghosted through him, making him tremble with aftershocks.

It felt different, being bitten after having come. Previous bites always happened while he was still aching for release. The tension would ratchet up and up, making him feel as if he was about to crawl out of his skin with need.

But this time, even though he was still hard, even though his body still sang with sensation, it was a more sedate, relaxed feeling. Eskel didn’t want to move. All he wanted was to stay in Dracula’s arms for a little while longer. 

“So pretty,” Dracula whispered. “That was so good. I am so pleased.” Satisfaction overflowed in those words, and Eskel could suddenly feel how hard and hot Dracula’s cock was against his rear. The hands on him were tipped with claws that very, very carefully scratched into his skin, so lightly they couldn’t possibly leave a mark. 

“Do you want more?” Dracula asked, lipping at his neck.

Eskel shook his head no, but held on tighter to Dracula’s arms. “Stay,” he said hoarsely. 

“I want to eat you up, mark you, fuck you, have every little piece of you,” Dracula said, pleased and dreamy, still running his mouth over whatever skin he could reach.

Eskel wholeheartedly believed him. His mind was still too muddled to actually do anything with that information though. The best he could do was try and rub himself closer to Dracula, to breathe in the scent of his power. 

Little by little, he calmed down from the high of being fed on. Small aches and pains made themselves known, and despite Dracula’s furnace-hot body against him, Eskel still felt chilled. 

He also realized that he was sticky. Very sticky. Both with sweat and come. The hand that had dug into his belly had slid so far down that Dracula was very close to touching the root of Eskel’s softening cock. It was so close to the stains that spread over his jeans. Somehow, Eskel knew that Dracula was dying to put his hands there. To feel and taste that release.

A heavy shiver raced through him, and he put one of his hands over Dracula’s. He had every good intention of pulling Dracula away. But for a moment, he just paused. Waiting. 

He could push Dracula’s hand down. Feel that burning hot skin against his own. Maybe find out once and for all if it was just the power raging through him and the bites that turned him on so badly, or if it was Dracula’s touch. Alucard’s touch. He _wanted_ to, and that stopped him. He’d already given up so much, given in to desires not his own; doing more was just too much.

“Do you want me to give you what you want, or do you want to show me?” Dracula asked, licking at Eskel’s drying sweat in the crook of his neck.

Eskel moaned softly at the thought of it and tightened his grip on Dracula’s hand. 

“No. No more today. I can’t,” he finally said, his voice so rough that it was barely a growl. 

Dracula’s mouth pulled away from his skin. The cool air of his breath was almost stinging against the wet and sensitive flesh there.

“What do you want?” The words were soft and low. 

The vampire nosed at the back of Eskel’s neck and then bit down with blunt teeth there, holding the skin and muscle tightly for a moment before letting go.

Eskel sighed with pleasure at the bite. Whatever pain there might have been didn’t even register. Either his own enhancements made it negligible or his body was still buzzing with enough endorphins that it didn’t matter. The feel of Dracula’s teeth on him made satisfaction coil up inside of him, and it was good, so very good, to be wanted and listened to. Dracula was giving him space to cope. Relief and gratitude washed over him. 

He didn’t really want this feeling to end. This comfort and safety. Everything still felt too big, and there was the distant, terrifying sensation that he was still just a breath away from some kind of breakdown. He was desperate to push that off for just a few minutes longer.

“You holding me,” Eskel said after a few breaths. He shifted a little in place, feeling the fabric sticking to his skin. It wasn’t a very pleasant sensation. “Shower is good, too. But...tired.” 

“Are you asking to be washed?” Dracula didn't sound all that unhappy with the idea.

Eskel arched his eyebrows up in surprise. That thought hadn’t even occurred to him. 

He wanted, needed, Dracula to stay close. Eskel’s skin was cold and it felt like his very bones were trembling softly. Some little part of his brain supplied that it might be shock, backlash from whatever power had been poured into him and then taken out. Or maybe it was just a direct result of the deeply personal feeding and the overwhelming emotions that the act had stirred up, both good and bad. Hell, it could just be the blood loss, though he didn’t think Dracula took _that_ much.

At the same time, Eskel didn’t think he could take Dracula’s hands all over him. Touching him in every intimate spot. Feeling every inch of his skin. He couldn’t deal with it. Not yet, not when he was so unsteady and uncertain, still reeling from the pleasure ripped out of him. 

His brain stalled out while he was trying to figure it out. He drifted for a little bit and the fine trembling turned into full on cold shivers. Eskel tried to turn in Dracula’s arms, to hide in his embrace for a little while longer. 

“Cold,” he whispered softly. 

“You can’t be cold with me here,” Dracula whispered, wrapping his arms around Eskel and pulling him tighter to his body.

Being held like that was exactly what Eskel had been craving. A soft little noise escaped him as he tried to soak in the heat of Dracula’s body. He thought he might be able to stay here for a week and not mind it. Everywhere their skin didn’t touch still felt chilled, and Eskel tried to worm his way closer. Not that there was any room to move; Dracula had him crushed tight to his chest. 

The cold wasn’t really letting up, despite the searing heat of Dracula’s arms around him. Eskel shivered again.

“I don’t feel right,” he said quietly. His brain hurt, his _heart_ hurt. Too much had happened and he couldn’t sort it out.

“Alucard changed you,” Dracula said quietly. “If I figure out what he did, I can suppress the changes or teach him to do it for you.”

Eskel let out a half hearted snort of amusement. He couldn’t believe that Alucard had done it on purpose, but it still chafed that he’d been altered without even being asked if it was alright. That horse was well and truly out of the barn, though. There wasn’t anything any of them could do about it now. 

“I guess we’ll all just have to wait and see.” He took a shuddering breath and tried to press closer into the comfort Dracula offered. “Maybe it won’t be bad.”

That was always a possibility. Geralt didn’t seem to have very many ill effects from whatever Dracula had done to him. 

That Eskel was aware of anyways. 

“Do you do that for Geralt?” Eskel asked.

Dracula hummed.

“Yes,” he admitted, shifting behind him and pulling Eskel deeper onto his lap. “I don’t want to change him, not so fast. It’s better if he remains as he is.” Dracula sounded carefully neutral.

Ah. So Eskel would be on a different learning curve then. He tried to nod, but mostly only succeeded in rubbing his forehead against Dracula’s jaw. 

Whatever was going to happen to him, or had happened to him, there wasn’t anything Eskel could do about it. Right at that moment, he didn’t even have the energy to think about it, either. It was as if some heavy fog weighed at his bones, pulling his thoughts down and away. He couldn’t process anything, or maybe just didn’t want to. 

He gave a rueful huff. “Now I know how Lambert feels.”

Of the Wolf witchers left alive, Lambert was the one who was least pleased with his lot in life. He’d never wanted to be a witcher. He was a Child of Surprise himself, forced through the trials and onto the Path against his will. Like the rest of them, he’d been changed into a weapon, a killing machine. It was all he knew, and there was no changing it. But the fact that he had no choice grated and burned inside of him.

Both Eskel and Geralt had taken the trials with eagerness. They were ready to become something better. But now, with whatever Alucard had done to Eskel, he got a taste of that bitterness. Dracula had changed him, too, he knew. From the moment he first swallowed down Dracula’s power, Eskel was very well aware that he might never be the same. 

This felt so much bigger, though. He couldn’t even be properly mad at Alucard for it, because the younger vampire was so utterly stoned when it happened. There was no way this was anything other than accidental.

“I’ll let you know what...what’s different,” Eskel whispered. 

Dracula chuckled.

“I’ll keep a close eye on you,” the vampire promised. He briefly dragged his fangs over Eskel’s shoulder before whispering into Eskel’s ear again. “_Very_ close.”

This time when Eskel shivered, it had nothing to do with the chill that had settled over his skin. 

He lay there in Dracula’s tight embrace for a few moments longer, letting his mind stay as peacefully blank as he could. Reality was looming ever closer, though, as his body settled down from the power and the bites. 

Dracula’s question floated through him again. Did he want Dracula to wash him? He was still torn between the desire to be held close and the need to be stable and sane again. The pull of being covered in hot water was starting to outweigh other considerations, though.

“Do you...would you want to help me get clean?” Eskel asked, a little hesitant. He cracked open his eyes to gauge Dracula’s expression.

He couldn’t see much of his expression, but it was enough that he could see the smile stretching Dracula’s lips. 

“I would very much enjoy touching you,” Dracula purred. As if to emphasize the point, he tightened his grip for a moment and ran a hand down Eskel’s stomach, digging his fingers in ever so slightly. 

Each finger left a trail of heat on Eskel’s skin. That alone would have made the touch feel amazing. But there was something else to it as well. Maybe it was the fact that it was Dracula touching him, or maybe it was just the feel of his power bubbling over.

He nodded a little, feeling a little fuzzy minded. “Help, then, please. But---” 

Eskel ducked his head, and tried not to feel like he was being an unreasonable bastard. Hadn’t he _just_ fucking come all over himself with Dracula’s touch and bite? And here he was trying to say he wasn’t ready for more of that. He couldn’t figure out how to phrase it. Gods, he was so bad at talking sometimes. 

“Don’t try to tease me,” he said finally. “If that’s too much, I can do it myself.”

“I never tease,” Dracula said. “I’m always very honest about what I’m offering and when.” He sounded huffy. “I’m not the one into denial.”

Then he groaned.

“Of course. _Of course_.” He shook his head. “You and Alucard, damn peas in a pod.”

Eskel didn’t quite know how to take that. He curled in on himself a little. He wasn't trying to be a problem. 

“I’m interested in washing you,” Dracula said as if sensing Eskel withdrawing. “We can talk about your tendency to deny yourself nice things later. Hell, we can invite Alucard to listen to the lecture too.” 

Then Dracula was moving, getting up, pulling Eskel up as if he weighed nothing.

Eskel didn’t even have the chance to try and get his feet under him; Dracula simply picked him up and carried him into the shower. 

There was a soft, chiming sound the moment they entered the shower portion of the bathroom. The tile there was small and glittered luxuriously with greens and blues, making Eskel think of humid forests and blue lagoons. The bottom part was darker, patterned in various shades of deep green. At about chest level an irregular mosaic of colored glass and gold created a swirling pattern that separated the darker colors from the warmer. Smaller shapes of soft off-white and pink marble cut through the design. 

As Eskel braced his hand on the tile he could feel how warm it was. With a soft sound, the water started to spray out of the hidden nozzles. It was wonderfully hot and misted over them with enough pressure to soak both of them in just a few heartbeats.

Without a word, Dracula gently settled Eskel onto his feet. He placed one of Eskel’s hands on the wall, giving him something to lean on. The scent of Dracula’s power slithered by Eskel’s nose for a moment, and he could feel the claws on Dracula’s fingers lengthen and sharpen. Those wickedly deadly points trailed down Eskel’s sides, sending a riot of goosebumps across his skin.

“Hold still,” Dracula said quietly, hooking his claws into the waistband of Eskel’s jeans. Then he knelt down behind where Eskel stood and dragged his hands downward, shredding the clothing right off of him.

A tiny surge of adrenaline flooded into Eskel’s body at the sensation. After fighting monsters for so long, the feel of claws scraping down his skin, even ones that weren’t actively harming him, had ingrained a particular response. Probably a good thing, since his knees had felt so wobbly that he wasn’t sure how much longer standing would even be an option. That added little bit of energy was enough to keep him sturdy and upright. 

Which was right about the time he realized that he was now standing naked, with Dracula kneeling right beside him. A fully dressed, completely soaked Dracula. 

Eskel looked down, feeling so exhausted and shaky that he just didn’t have enough energy to do anything but stare stupidly at the vampire kneeling by his feet. Dracula’s hair looked longer now, wet and plastered to his skull and neck; its black ends disappeared into the black cloth of his suit. 

“Very nice,” Dracula murmured, smoothing his hands up Eskel’s legs. His hands squeezed Eskel’s calves, and from the look on his face he was very pleased with the way the muscle resisted his grip. Then he did the same thing to Eskel’s thighs. His fingers dug in firmly enough that it didn't feel quite like a caress, more like…an assessment.

Eskel felt himself blush a little at the praise. 

As he was looking down, he noticed the mark on his chest had grown again, spreading out another inch in all directions. The original triangle was swallowed now by a ring of creeping, coiling glyphs and snake-like roots. At this point he wasn’t even surprised. Just a little resigned, maybe. 

He rubbed his free hand across the mark, feeling the power there prickle along his fingers. 

Dracula got up, unfolding smoothly, and reaching beside Eskel. Then the air was filled with sharp, zesty, herbal scent.

“I like the soaps Alucard chooses,” Dracula said quietly as he rubbed his hands together. A pleasant smelling foam formed between his hands. “If it’s him that chooses them, that is.” Dracula chuckled and put his hands on Eskel’s shoulders.

“It does seem like John picks out a lot of things for him,” Eskel said with an agreeing huff of amusement. His eyes fluttered a little at the feel of Dracula’s hands on him. One palm rubbed right up against a bite mark, reminding him of the pleasure earlier. “Probably a good thing. John seems like he cares.”

Dracula dragged his hands to Eskel’s neck, then wrapped them around it. It sent a little shock of adrenaline through him even though Dracula wasn’t trying to choke him. He didn’t really have any energy to actually get tense, but Eskel still forced himself to stay relaxed. To not give in to the need to react. 

Dracula wouldn’t hurt him. He let the knowledge of that fill up his gaze as he watched Dracula steadily. 

The corners of Dracula’s lips pulled up into a smirk. He let go of Eskel’s neck and dragged his hands down to the top of Eskel’s chest. Then he moved them to the side, coming back to Eskel’s arms and down them. He was both possessive and professional about his touch.

With every stroke, Eskel found himself leaning into the touch. He couldn’t quite keep his eyes open, not really. His head drooped a little and he leaned more heavily on his hand on the wall. Finally, he felt warm. 

“Washcloth?” Eskel asked, his voice hoarse.

“I prefer my hands,” Dracula said reaching for the soap again. Then he pressed them against Eskel’s stomach. The soap felt a little cool, but his hands were hot. So hot and rubbing dangerously close to some very sensitive areas as Dracula slid them to Eskel’s sides and back.

Those touches felt so good, so wonderful. And not just because of the sensation of skin on skin. The care that Dracula put into it had a lulling effect on Eskel. All the little details, the worries and personal failings and upset, fled from his mind. He swayed in place. Before he really thought it through, Eskel leaned forward and pressed his forehead into Dracula’s wet shoulder. 

Dracula hummed and pulled Eskel closer, making him lean on his chest more fully. “Good idea, I need to get your back, too.”

It was probably a testament to how worn out Eskel was feeling that he didn’t think twice about that statement. 

Dracula’s hands left Eskel for a moment. The movement of his chest suggested that he was getting more soap. Then his hands were on the back of Eskel’s neck. He pressed hard, squeezing the muscles there until something released. Eskel gave a gasp as sharp tingles travelled down his back, followed by a drastic lessening of tension.

“You are too tense,” Dracula chided. He moved his hands lower, digging fingers into the muscles between Eskel’s shoulder blades and awakening even more shudders. 

“It’s the scars,” Eskel grumbled. His mind was too absorbed in the feeling of hands on him to really think about what was coming out of his mouth. “Knots everything up. ‘S worse when I’m cold. Makes them ache.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem for much longer,” Dracula said offhandedly as he dragged his hands down Eskel’s side. 

Then he put them straight on Eskel’s ass.

Whatever Eskel had to say in response was utterly lost with the feeling of Dracula’s kneading his buttcheeks. His face burned, and now he couldn’t help but tense up.

When Dracula pushed his soapy fingers between his cheeks, Eskel gasped, high and light. He sucked in a breath and grabbed ahold of Dracula’s shoulder.

“I’m just washing you.” Dracula sounded so patently, falsely innocent that Eskel didn’t know if he should laugh or cry. 

Then Dracula pressed his fingers lower between Eskel’s legs, reaching down and wrapping them around Eskel’s balls briefly. 

He pulled away just as Eskel was taking a breath to say something, maybe stop him or just squeak again. All that came out was a shuddering gasp as Eskel forced air into his burning lungs. Confusion burned inside of him, and Eskel wasn’t sure exactly how he was supposed to be feeling. 

The trembling was back in his unsteady body. Eskel dug his fingers harder into Dracula’s shoulder, trying to keep himself steady. He knew what was coming next. What he didn’t know was if he should stop it or not. 

He didn’t want Dracula’s careful concern to stop, that he knew. But this was pressing a boundary for him and pressing hard. 

All he had to do was say the word and Dracula would back off, of that he was certain. So far everything had felt very, very nice, and Dracula had kept to his word. There wasn’t a hint of teasing in his touch. Only firm care. That was enough for Eskel to refrain from saying no outright.

“Dracula…” he started, face still buried into the wet fabric of Dracula’s shirt.

Dracula’s hands came to his sides, framing his hips. His fingers kneaded into the muscle attachments on the back of his pelvis. It hurt at first and then, suddenly, something _gave_. The sudden, almost brutal ease in tension made Eskel’s knees buckle and he had to cling to Dracula’s shoulders again, just to stay upright.

“Gods,” Eskel whispered. As painful as that initial dig felt, the relief after was shockingly good. He panted into the heat of Dracula’s body, unable to form any kind of coherent thought. 

Dracula continued washing his back with firm, long strokes that felt good but not too invasive.

“Now, the front.” Dracula said, his voice vibrating through his chest right into Eskel’s.

A shudder raced through Eskel, and he pressed his face into the crook of Dracula’s neck. He chest heaved as he panted. A strange mix of trepidation, anxiety, comfort, and interest swirled through him. Eskel wasn’t hard, though a little stirring of heat did curl up inside of him at Dracula’s words. He couldn’t think of a damn thing to say, though. All he could do was wait with his mouth pressed into Dracula’s shoulder. 

Dracula’s hands ran down Eskel’s back again and separated, sliding around his hips, and then to his lower belly. He scratched at the taut skin just above the root of Eskel’s groin. 

Then his soapy hand was wrapping around Eskel’s cock. Eskel found himself biting down on Dracula’s shirt and the muscle under it just to keep quiet. The sensation was too much and not really much at all. Dracula wasn’t doing anything but what he promised; his touch firm and not teasing at all. Yet at the same time it was torture. Eskel burned with embarrassment and maybe just a little bit of interest. At this point it didn’t even occur to him to ask Dracula to stop. Eskel knew Dracula wouldn’t take it any farther than a wash. All Eskel had to do was let him work.

Dracula’s fingers wrapped around the head, pulling at the foreskin. His other hand slid against the sensitive, exposed glans, washing everything thoroughly.

A muffled little whine escaped from Eskel’s mouth, and he bit down a little harder on Dracula’s shoulder. This was so shockingly intimate; he felt so raw and vulnerable as Dracula touched him so surely. Eskel had asked for this, and Dracula was just giving him exactly what he requested. He stood as still as he could, and trembled in place as he waited.

When the hands left his cock, he shuddered. Dracula gripped Eskel by his shoulders.

“Just your legs left,” he said, his voice low and gravelly.

That was when Eskel realized that he was still biting Dracula’s shoulder, anchoring him in place. Slowly, he loosed his jaw. He rubbed his forehead on the wet fabric for a moment, trying to bring himself back to some semblance of order. Then he nodded. He tried to straighten up a little, to brace himself so that Dracula wasn’t taking all of his weight. 

Dracula pushed him gently so that his back rested against the heated tile wall. 

“Hold on,” Dracula murmured, before getting more soap. 

Eskel could only stare at him, mute with the influx of sensations. The terrible intimacy of the act of washing wasn’t something he expected or was even ready for, but he’d asked for it and now he was lost. All he could do was watch silently as Dracula got more soap on his fingers and then sank down to his knees, rubbing his soapy palms over Eskel’s thighs. His long fingers wrapped around Eskel’s knees briefly and something like an appreciative murmur escaped the vampire.

“You have really nice legs,” Dracula praised him, focusing on soaping the rest of Eskel’s legs.

Eskel’s face heated up at the compliment, and he had to huff in amusement. “Give or take a few dozen claw marks,” he grumbled, though he couldn’t quite keep the pleasure out of his voice. 

The image of Dracula on his knees like that was seared into Eskel’s mind. How his hands wrapped around Eskel’s body, his hair and clothes plastered to him in the hot pouring water of the shower. The careful way Dracula handled him. It was a lot to take in. 

Gods, but Dracula looked beautiful. 

That startling thought made Eskel’s cheeks burn, and he found himself looking away. He’d never felt so laid bare before. It wasn’t about the nudity, or even his weakness and confusion. It was the way Dracula meticulously, thoroughly cared for him, and in such a personal way. There was no hesitation. No hint of anything but pleasure and appreciation. 

Eskel thought that he’d never felt quite so treasured as he did now.

In return, Dracula seemed to offer part of himself, too. How many people had seen the dreaded king of hell on his knees before? How often in Dracula’s very long life had he been so open and caring about another person? 

That touched something deep inside of him, and Eskel found himself breathless with it.

Dracula finished and got up. His eyes trailed across Eskel’s body with possessive appreciation, and paused to linger on the seal on Eskel’s chest.

“It’s getting rather unruly, isn’t it?” Dracula sighed and pressed his palm to the mark.

It _itched_.

All the little tendrils that were growing out of the original triangular mark started moving, squirming, worming under Eskel’s skin. He could see how they tented his skin a little as they twisted, pulling in and wrapping around themselves. They retreated back from all the new places on his chest that they’d grown into, with one twisting back from as far away as under Eskel’s armpit. 

The lines didn’t disappear though. They just wriggled closer to Dracula’s hand directly over the original mark. Eskel gasped, not in pain, but at the absolute oddness of the sensation. He gripped Dracula’s shoulders in an attempt to force himself to stay still while this utterly odd sensation wracked through him.

“Yes, much neater now,” Dracula said as he pulled his hand away, quiet and pleased sounding.

The triangular mark was still there, but no longer as simplistic as the original design. Now there were black tendrils overlapping inside it. The foreign runes gained more depth, almost as if Eskel could look into them somehow. The borders were no longer straight, clean lines, but dozens upon dozens of tendrils twisted together, forming tiny runes along the original borders.

Yes, the mark was tidier and smaller than the multitude of growing tendrils before, but it was astoundingly intricate and much darker now.

Eskel ran his hand over it, feeling how his fingers tingled sharply where they touched the twisting lines. It didn’t do that before. Not before today, anyways. 

“I can feel it,” he whispered. Eskel pressed his fingers a little harder into his chest, but his skin and muscle gave way as it always did. There was nothing hiding under there, nothing physical anyways. He brought his fingers up to his nose and smelled, catching the faint scent of burning green wood and blood. Dracula’s power. 

What had Alucard done to him?

Just as worry began to work its way back up his spine, Dracula’s hands were on him again rubbing down his shoulders and arms. One stroked up Eskel’s neck, a featherlight drag over the long line of bites and bruises, and then cradled Eskel’s jaw. Dracula tilted his head up to look at him and then drew him close. For a moment, Eskel though Dracula might kiss him, but the movement stalled out while they were just a breath away from each other.

“Should I wash your hair, too?” Dracula offered. The hand on Eskel’s jaw slipped up to trace fine lines along his scalp. Eskel couldn’t help but lean into that touch. It was very nice. So wonderful. 

But it would be better if they were dry. More than that, Eskel was worn out. Now that he was finally heated all the way through, a kind of body weary exhaustion crept over him. It wasn’t that he was sleepy. It was more like his body ached to sit and rest.

“Another time, maybe,” Eskel said finally. His eyes were mostly closed and let himself lean into Dracula’s hands.

Dracula let out a soft rumble of appreciation. “Very well. Another time, then.”

Before Eskel had a chance to say anything else, Dracula had hoisted him up, one arm around his back and the other under one knee, holding him close. A little noise of surprise slipped out of Eskel at the sudden change, and he held on to Dracula’s shoulders. He needn’t have worried about his balance; Dracula carried him out of the shower as if he weighed nothing. 

At another place or time, Eskel would have been embarrassed as hell about all the carrying. But right then, all he could feel was gratitude. He buried his face into Dracula’s neck and took long, slow breaths. Something warm and soft wrapped around his back, and then Dracula sat down, still holding Eskel in front of him.

There was rush of dark energy, and Dracula’s body blurred for a moment as shadows crawled up from nowhere and wrapped around him. They disappeared moments after, leaving Dracula still dressed in his black dress pants and unbuttoned shirt, but now the soft, expensive fabric was warm and dry.

It took Eskel a moment to realize it, but the way Dracula had been carrying him and how they sat down meant that Eskel was straddling Dracula’s lap. Naked. With every part of him rubbed up against Dracula’s expensive looking black clothes. A large heavy towel was thrown over his back. The damn thing was so big that it was almost a blanket, and it covered all of him from shoulder to toes. It also neatly captured the warmth left over from the shower under its plush, pale green length and sandwiched Eskel right next to Dracula’s body.

Blistering heat raced across Eskel’s face and he ducked his head into Dracula’s shoulder. There was an ungodly amount of contact going on. Whatever Dracula’s clothes were made of, they were blissfully soft against his skin, even the most tender parts of him. Every little shift and movement rubbed him all over with that smooth fabric.

Before he could say anything, Dracula began carefully drying his hair with the top part of the towel. That was enough to make Eskel sigh happily and slump down further onto Dracula’s body, arms around his shoulders and face in his neck. 

“You’re such a pleasure to touch. Mine. My Eskel,” Dracula said quietly, whispering right into his ear. 

Those words make Eskel sigh with delight. Dracula’s breath felt cool on Eskel’s damp skin, ticklish almost, but he didn’t have it in him to move.

In a little bit he’d need to get up and get dressed. He had to talk to Alucard. There was a lot to sort out between them, and Eskel had a great deal of conflicting feelings about it. There was also the little matter of how he’d been physically changed and what that meant for them both. 

He also needed to try and pull his mind together. Everything felt so raw; torn apart and twisted up inside. A lot had happened between him and Dracula, and Eskel knew he’d desperately need time to sort it out and see where he stood and how he felt about it. 

But his body still felt shaky and weak, and all he really wanted to do was stay curled up in Dracula’s arms for a while longer. The bites along his shoulder and neck ached, and there was something still _off_ that he couldn’t place. A feeling inside of him that screamed that things weren’t right. All of that added up to an impressive lethargy. Moving seemed very difficult, and his head still kind of hurt. It was much easier, better, to stay still in Dracula’s arms.

He let his eyes drift closed and basked in the warmth around him. The soft prickle of Dracula’s hair tickled at his neck and face, and he could feel the steady pulse of Dracula’s heart under him. He was so wonderfully warm.

Firm but gentle touches traced through his hair, and after a while Dracula’s other hand roamed down under the towel. It brushed up and down Eskel’s body, across his back and shoulders, down his hip and leg. The touches never quite went somewhere that would make Eskel tense up, but Dracula was very clearly taking advantage of the fact that there wasn’t a stitch of clothing on Eskel’s body. His skin sang with it. Each trailing finger left a line of sparks down his body, leaving him practically humming with the glory of being touched.

“So pretty.” Dracula rubbed his cheek into the side of Eskel’s head. Every so often, he paused to bury his nose in Eskel’s hair and inhale. “You did so well. I am so pleased.”

Eskel grumbled happily, and ran his lips over the hot skin at Dracula’s neck. This was safety. 

“We can stay here as long as you like,” Dracula said softly. 

That sweet promise made Eskel cling a little tighter to Dracula’s broad shoulders. It was such a nice offer. Letting Eskel hide here, stay in comfort long enough to regain some of the armor around his heart and mind as he recovered from the soul shaking experiences of the last day. 

It couldn’t last, though, and Eskel knew it. 

“We should probably go see Alucard,” Eskel said, his voice so soft it was barely an unhappy mumble. 

All of his extra clothes were stashed in Alucard’s closet, which adjoined to the bathroom. It would be easy enough to slip in and get something clean to wear before heading out into the main room. That would at least save him a little embarrassment. 

The mere thought of getting up was actually painful, though. 

“Eventually,” Dracula allowed.

Eskel rubbed his face into Dracula’s neck, trying to swallow down the smell of his power like some elixir of security.

“...Maybe after a few more minutes,” Eskel said softly. It felt too good to be wrapped up in Dracula’s care to want to leave at all.

A deep chuckle rumbled in Dracula’s chest, and he lipped at Eskel’s ear. “Now you’re starting to get the idea.”

Eskel huffed in amusement, and cuddled closer. Just for a little while longer.

\---


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note from Quarra: It's been. Uh. A pretty fucked up and shitty time for me in RL. Things are doing better, though, and we're still on schedule for posting, even if this installment was a little slower than the last few. I'm still gonna try to work to get more done faster for you all. Enjoy the drama!

Geralt walked along the Gauntlet, the training course that ran through the valley at Kaer Morhen. A part of him realized that he shouldn’t be there, especially not like this. 

When he was a child, he and the other students had run the path at full speed. It was dangerous. Brutal. Sometimes it was deadly, too. They ran in all weather, heavily laden in gear. Not only were there treacherous obstacles to avoid, but there were also various teachers running alongside them in the woods, attacking at random.

After he became a witcher, and returned home to Kaer Morhen in the winter time, he and the others would run the Gauntlet again. There was no one to attack them, not unless they organized a group run, but just going through the motions in the snow was enough to give them a little exercise.

Now, though, Geralt walked along the path alone. Slowly. Sedately. Snow fell around him; just a few tiny, shifting flakes in the wind. Kaer Morhen could be a frigid place in winter, and the mountain winds were as unforgiving as any monster. 

But Geralt didn’t feel its bite. The wind was blowing. His hair stirred with it, and the laces on his shirt twisted in the breeze, but there was no bone deep cold that came with the sensation. There was nothing. 

Wait.

His shirt laces blowing in the wind? Those should be tucked into his armor.

Geralt looked down, only to discover that he was in his sleeping clothes. A loose cotton shirt and thin, soft pants. Snow was encrusted along his legs and little drifts were gathering on his shoulders.

A brief spike of panic went through him. He should be freezing. _Literally_. Witchers were enhanced, but even they could die of hypothermia. 

He tried to brush the snow off of him, and still he felt nothing. It was worse than stiff numbness, because if it were only that then he’d know it was the cold having gotten too much for him. His fingers moved. Geralt couldn’t feel them at all. He should be feeling _something_. 

Another jolt of anxiety splashed through him. Something was wrong. He patted himself down, looking for something, anything that might explain what was going on. 

That was when he noticed he wasn’t wearing any shoes. He was barefoot in the snow.

He was going to freeze and die. 

Fear, heavy and sickly sweet, rose up in the back of his throat. They’d find him like an icicle in the spring, rigid and gruesome. A warning to the others of what happens to idiots who don’t prepare. 

Geralt frantically searched around, trying to find where the nearest shortcut to the keep was, but he was mired in snow. It drifted up to his calves, then up to his knees and thighs as he flailed around. 

He was drowning in it and he couldn’t feel a damn thing. 

“Geralt.”

He was frantic now, climbing up through the snow banks. Ice was in his hair, tinkling softly against the metal of his necklace, and still he felt nothing. He was already starting to freeze. 

“_Geralt._”

Geralt woke with a start. 

It was only Alucard’s familiar scent wrapped around him that kept him from trying to lash out. Alucard’s hand was on his shoulder. Holding him down, he realized. 

“Wha---” Geralt said gruffly. He blinked and rubbed his face. He was in bed. They were both in bed. Alucard’s bed in Castlevania City. 

That’s right. 

Dracula had taken Eskel off to the bathroom to drink from him and drain the power inside of him. While they waited, Alucard had curled up next to Geralt, looking for the life of him like he was trying to hold his soul into his stomach. The icy scent of Alucard’s magic had trickled into the air. Geralt had assumed he was doing something to ease Eskel’s experience. Or, given that they were somehow connected now, maybe Alucard was trying to make the power drain easier for both of them. Geralt hadn’t wanted to interrupt to ask. 

But Geralt was still so damn exhausted all the time, and having Alucard snuggled up next to him was a treat. He must have drifted off while they were waiting. 

“You were dreaming,” Alucard said. 

His hands were warm on Geralt’s skin. _A nice change_, he thought absently. 

Geralt shook his head, banishing the fear from the dream out of his mind. The ice scent in the air must have filtered into his sleeping brain. He covered one of Alucard’s hands with his own and gave it a little reassuring squeeze. 

“Yeah, I must have been.” Geralt frowned as he tried to remember the details. “It was odd. All ice and snow.” He shrugged.

There was a slight frown on Alucard’s face, but it smoothed out soon enough. After months of sleeping together on at least a semi-regular basis, Alucard was well aware that Geralt had bad dreams from time to time. It came with the territory of doing what he did.

Geralt looked over to the bathroom door. Still closed. Alucard was still in his blue robe, too, so he obviously hadn’t had a chance for a shower and a change.

“Still in there, huh?” Geralt asked quietly. 

The bathroom was relatively soundproof. Both he and Eskel could hear some sound through the walls. The shower running, very loud noises, that sort of thing. But softer sounds wouldn’t make it through the walls. Humans probably thought it was completely soundproof. 

At the moment, he couldn’t hear anything from beyond the door.

“Yes.” Alucard turned to look too. 

Something in that response caught Geralt’s attention, and his ears perked up. There was an unhappy slump to Alucard’s shoulders and a tightness in how he held his mouth. 

Geralt frowned a little. It was possible, likely even, that Alucard was feeling bad about what happened with Eskel. Still, it was hard to say what exactly Alucard was most twisted up about.

Time to start fishing.

“Do you think it went alright?” Geralt asked.

“The power has been drained.” Alucard paused to lick his lips, and his resolve cracked a little. “I could feel Eskel’s pleasure. And then his shame afterwards.”

_Well, fuck_. 

Geralt winced. That didn’t bode well. 

“My Father took care of him,” he continued. “Is still taking care of him. They’ve been in there for a long while.”

There was definitely a whole host of guilty feelings digging around in Alucard’s head. As much as Geralt hated to admit it, there was some justification for it. Alucard likely hadn’t meant to do...whatever it was that was done to Eskel. And Geralt knew without question that Alucard would never want to hurt him.

But it had happened, and Eskel had very nearly died. 

For a while after his surgery, Geralt had wondered about asking Alucard to breathe his power into him. Dracula, Alucard, and Eskel had all agreed that it was easier on the body than Dracula’s burning, molten rage in energetic form. With what just happened to Eskel in mind, Geralt was relieved he hadn’t pressed him on it. Alucard had been the first to say that he didn’t have a good grasp on the skill. This had just proved that. 

“Can you still feel him?” Geralt asked. In part, because he was curious about the potential permanent effects of the bond, but also because he wanted to know how Eskel was doing. 

Alucard opened his mouth to respond, but paused. He licked his lips and swallowed, still staring intently across the room. 

“Very distantly. Much of it has faded. I suspect I would be able to feel more if I were in trance.” Alucard closed his eyes for a moment and ducked his head. There was a slight tremble in his hands that Geralt did not like one bit. “I fear I have done a great deal of damage, and to someone who deserves it so little.”

As well as he was able, Geralt tugged at Alucard’s hand, urging him to come close once more. It was a testament to Alucard’s state of mind that he went easily into Geralt’s arms and snuggled up as carefully as he could.

“Everything will be alright, pretty wolf,” Geralt murmured softly. “It was an accident, and Eskel surely knows that. He’s alive, and Dracula is taking care of him. He’ll be alright.” Geralt _hoped_. 

“Before most of connection faded out, I could feel how Father comforted him. But I could also feel how upset he was.” Worry weighed down on each word. 

Geralt just held him as tight as he could, which he sadly knew wasn’t very tight at all. 

“So you two are bound,” Geralt said. It wasn’t a question. It was just fact now.

“Yes,” Alucard sighed. “But...how much or to what end, I don’t know.”

Geralt wasn’t sure what to say to that. His first instinct was to say that the bond couldn’t be that bad, that whatever changes manifested in Eskel would be beneficial. But Alucard was a vampire. A very old, very powerful vampire, and one that routinely took power from the Prince of Darkness. Not everything that came out of that would be sunshine and roses, and Geralt knew he would be wise to remember that.

No doubt Alucard was thinking the same thing. 

“When I woke up like this, changed into this creature, I was furious,” Alucard said softly. “I’d been a good man, I thought. A righteous one. I fought the powers of darkness all my life. And then suddenly, I’d been turned into this...this monster.” He let out a hard sigh. “I hated my Father for it. And I hated myself.”

They’d fought each other for centuries after that. Geralt didn’t know the details of that time, but he knew that it had left deep scars on both Alucard and Dracula. 

“You think Eskel will hate you?” Geralt asked quietly.

“I don’t know if he’ll have a choice in the matter at all.” Alucard said softly, lowering his head. His hair fell forward, onto his face, hiding his eyes from view.

Geralt winced again. Silence fell between them as Geralt struggled to find something to say. He stroked Alucard’s hair, petting him. Hopefully giving him a little bit of comfort. 

“We’ll find out soon enough,” Geralt said finally. “But...if that is the case, which it very well might not be, you’re still a good man, Alucard. You’ll treat him well. Dracula and I will help, too. Eskel won’t…” He swallowed hard. “He won’t be in distress.”

Fuck, but Geralt hoped that wouldn’t be the case. Painful spikes lodged in his throat just thinking about it.

“I shouldn’t try to do those things,” Alucard said with surprising vehemence. “Father hadn’t had a chance to practice his skills with sharing power with humans before you, and he never harmed you like that. I have a teacher and I am failing at every turn.”

Geralt snorted. “I seem to remember nearly being killed on a throne by Dracula’s passion once. If you hadn’t stopped him, I may well have.” He leaned in to press a kiss onto Alucard’s head. “Besides. You are a different person than your father. You have different skills, different abilities. Not everything will work the same, even with a teacher and practice.” Geralt licked his lips. “Dracula works on instincts. He has a very internalized, almost instinctive grasp of his powers. I have known warriors like that, blademasters and martial arts masters that seemed to just pull new moves out of their asses because they ‘felt right’. They could never really explain how they did it or why. It just _was_ for them, the way breathing is for me. I have also known sorceresses and mages, and they all have one thing in common. They need to understand, to know what the partial elements are, they need to know how things are built, before they can use their magic. They build spells like other people build buildings, brick by brick. It doesn’t make them better or worse, just makes them different.” Then he smiled. “You are definitely a mage. Maybe that’s why Dracula’s explanation or examples are so confusing to you.”

Even though Geralt couldn’t see Alucard’s face right then, he could tell that Alucard was thinking over what he said. He also knew that it might take repeating a few times. Guilt was a hard feeling to derail. Especially with the source of it so often in sight.

“I need to see how he is,” Alucard said. “I need---” He put his hand over Geralt’s heart. “I need you to tell me how he is.” He swallowed. “I…can’t be trusted not to see what I want to see.”

Geralt hummed softly. “I think you give yourself too little credit, but it’s not a bad idea to have a double check. I’ll keep an eye on him.” He laid another kiss onto Alucard’s head. “I’ll watch you both, and tell you what I see.”

“Thank you.” Alucard bent down and kissed the ball of Geralt’s shoulder, his breath still warm through the thin cotton of Geralt’s shirt.

Before Geralt could speak the reassurance that was poised on the tip of his tongue, the bathroom door opened and Eskel walked out.

\--

It had taken longer than Eskel anticipated for him to feel able to head back out into the main room. How much time had passed, he wasn’t sure, but it was enough that his hair was mostly dry.

He also acquired a few more fangless bites along his shoulders; Dracula was seemingly eager to express his affection through his teeth. Truth be told, Eskel didn’t mind it. He liked that Dracula wanted him, wanted to mark him and keep him safe.

Looking in the mirror, though, he had to admit he didn’t look so hot. The bites that actually broke skin trailed all across one side of his neck and down to the end of his shoulder, and the bruising covered even more. It was enough that he didn’t want to put his shirt on right away for fear of getting little bits of blood on the nice fabric.

That was fine. It could wait until after he took a potion. 

He dressed in another pair of the dark blue jeans that John had supplied for him, going for his Castlevania City clothes without even really thinking about it. 

For a moment he stared blankly at the selection of shirts. All of them were nice long sleeve, undecorated button up shirts. Eskel had found early on that he liked the style. Easy to get in and out of, and the colors were very pretty. But now he couldn’t quite make his brain function enough to decide between them. 

Also the stiff, elegant collars looked like they would press against all of those raw marks Dracula left on him. Maybe after he took a Swallow, he could put one on. 

“The red would look very nice,” Dracula said from the doorway to the walk-in closet. 

Eskel snorted softly. “You just want me in your colors.”

“Yes,” Dracula said pleasantly, lazy like an overfed cat. 

The thought of it was appealing. Like a little bit of Dracula still around him, holding him close. Something tugged at him, though. He couldn’t quite put a name on it. Eskel found himself looking away from the selection that John had supplied him, and took in the rest of Alucard’s collection. Most of it was in Alucard’s typical colors, greys, silvers, and blues, but there was still a fairly wide variety. Eskel sensed John’s influence here. 

It took a minute of digging, but he found one that was a dark, burned red that made him think of dried blood. Given his mood, he thought it just the right thing.

He grabbed it and headed out without putting it on. As he passed where Dracula stood, he paused and leaned in for a moment, very gently resting on Dracula’s arm. One last bit of support before he had to go be presentable for people again. He closed his eyes and breathed in Dracula’s scent. 

Very gently, Dracula smoothed down his hair, petting him like a cat. It made Eskel want to grumble a little, but it felt too good to say anything.

“You look tasty,” Dracula informed him, still petting. His voice was still lazy and pleased.

That made Eskel huff a little in amusement. “Somehow I think I got that.” He tilted his head to look at his well chewed on shoulder. 

Dracula huffed, trailing his fingers down Eskel’s mauled neck, bringing back shivers that raced down Eskel’s back.

“You’ll drain dry me if you continue to indulge like that,” Eskel grumped.

“I can drain a living being of all life in less time than it takes for a heart to beat once,” Dracula murmured. “I could never drain you.”

Warmth curled up in Eskel’s chest and he rubbed his cheek into Dracula’s shoulder. His shirt was so soft, and the heat from Dracula’s body radiated out of it. 

Eskel took another deep breath. Time to go out and face whatever the hell was going on. He pressed his lips to Dracula’s shoulder. 

“Thank you,” he whispered. 

This could have been a great deal worse without Dracula’s careful care. Granted, the man pushed hard at Eskel’s limits, at his boundaries, but he also very courteously stayed within them. He’d asked over and over what Eskel wanted, and had _listened_. While the orgasm wasn’t something Eskel was looking for, he didn’t think Dracula had been really trying to push him into something he didn’t want. Hadn’t Dracula already said that he wasn’t interested in an unwilling partner? 

Given how often Dracula had fed from him before and how pleasurable the experience was, it was probably more surprising that he hadn’t come during a feeding before now. Eskel found he couldn’t blame anyone for what had happened. Even more important, Dracula had held him through the reactions after. Never once had Eskel felt anything other than treasured and cared for. 

Though maybe in the future he might have to be more specific about what he expected from the feeding. No doubt Dracula could tone down the effect if he wanted. 

“It was my pleasure, I assure you.” Dracula’s voice was rough and low. The hand he’d been trailing on Eskel’s shoulder paused to lay right over his neck, covering one of the deeper bites.

Eske shook his head and snorted. No doubt it was. 

“Can you sound any more pleased?”

Dracula hummed.

“Yes,” he agreed after some deliberation. “If you added sex to the feeding.” He looked at Eskel from beneath lowered lids. “That would be even better, yes.”

A shudder raced up Eskel’s spine. That was something they needed to talk about, but right that moment he didn’t feel up for it. Eskel had other things on his mind first, like exactly what Alucard had done to him. Though he couldn’t help but wonder again if maybe sex with Dracula wouldn’t be so bad. 

A minute or two passed before he realized that he hadn’t answered Dracula yet. He’d been to occupied thinking the situation through. 

Eskel shook his head briefly, clearing the thought from his mind. “Come on,” he said. “Time to go see Alucard and Geralt.”

Dracula hummed at him, but didn’t seem displeased. 

Anxiety fluttered in Eskel’s stomach. He took another breath. This was just Alucard and Geralt. Not a damn executioner. 

He stepped out of the bathroom first. The view that greeted him wasn’t anything that would surprise him, yet hit him like a kick to the solar plexus. Alucard was sitting up, leaning over a reclining Geralt, his hand on the witcher’s chest and his hair falling down to cover his eyes.

The sight of Alucard pushed the breath out of his lungs, just for a second, but it was enough to make him pause. All he could do was stare at the familiar figure, for one moment forgetting about everything else in the room. Then he blinked, and the sensation was gone, the world rushed back in with a roar.

Geralt noticed him first. His eyes grew huge as he took in Eskel’s appearance.

“He did his best to eat you, didn’t he?” Geralt blurted out, staring dumbly at Eskel’s neck and shoulders.

Eskel glanced at him through his loose hair, and smirked ruefully. The expression was fleeting, though, and he looked back to the shirt in his hands. He knew what he looked like, and it was very true. Dracula had well and truly chewed him up. Even Geralt’s shock at the damage wasn’t enough to distract him for long. 

After a moment, Eskel moved over to the pile of gear he’d left on the end table at the far side of the bed. When he got there, he sat down on the edge of the bed with a thump. His back was to Geralt and Alucard, and he kept his head down. 

A mix of emotions churned inside of him. Embarrassment. A great deal of embarrassment. But also bashfulness and hurt. Anxiety and upset. It took him a minute to realize it, but under all of that confusion was a low, steady desire to reach out and touch Alucard again. Just a little touch. Maybe no more than a brush of his hand against Alucard’s arm. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out if it was just a passing fancy or if it was something else. Like the urge to reach out and touch a particularly soft looking bit of fabric, or to pet a friendly cat. 

He knew damn well that they were staring at him. Probably looked at all the bruising and how it even wrapped around the back of his neck.

“Yeah,” Eskel said roughly, trying to sound casual. “Yeah, it’s a lot. Gonna need a Swallow so I don’t scare the humans.”

“More’s the pity,” Dracula said, finally wandering out of the bathroom. The words radiated satisfaction and Eskel could feel Dracula’s heavy gaze across his back. 

Eskel didn’t need to turn around to know that Geralt was probably giving Dracula a look. 

The silence stretched on for a minute longer.

“I am so very sorry,” Alucard said softly. The distress was plain in his voice. 

It actually physically hurt to listen to. An ache settled into Eskel’s chest, and he realized it was a manifestation of Alucard’s upset. 

They could still feel each other. Or at least, Eskel could still feel Alucard. It wasn’t like earlier, where they were in each other’s heads, sharing memories and thoughts. But something was still there; faint, but noticeable. Whatever bond Alucard had forged between them hadn’t gone away when the power was drained out of Eskel. If it had lasted this long, then chances were good it was permanent. 

“Fuck,” he whispered, slumping down farther. He covered up his face with one hand and just leaned on his elbow, suddenly unable to even sit up right anymore. 

_What had Alucard done to him?_

Bitter, poisonous anger twisted at his mouth and stiffened up his muscles. Again. _Again_, he’d had power shoved into him, been marked, been used, all without anyone ever bothering to see if he even liked the idea. A thousand awful, ugly things sat on the tip of his tongue as his rage festered. 

That telltale tug in his chest shifted and took on a heavier flavor of sour guilt and self-hatred. 

Even if Eskel hadn’t been magically tied to Alucard, he would have never wanted his friend to be in such pain. He just didn’t have it in him to let that happen. 

Eskel rubbed his hand over his face and reminded himself that this was an accident. Alucard hadn’t intended to do...whatever it was that he did. The regret and the deep unhappiness were apparent in Alucard’s heart, and Eskel could feel it. 

Then he thought about that forced pleasure with Dracula. That wasn’t Alucard’s fault either. Hell, it wasn’t really even Dracula’s, though the man was handsy and possessive. Eskel knew damn well that Dracula’s bite was orgasmically pleasurable. He’d been dealing with that for months now. Nothing that had happened should have come as a surprise to him.

It still kind of did, though, and he couldn’t stop the feelings of upset that welled up because of it. Mostly he was upset with himself.

Another thought occurred to him. Eskel himself had already offered to Alucard to help practice with this particular power as long as Dracula was willing to drain the energy from him. He was fully aware that while he was stoned out of his mind, he’d want to fuck them both like mad. More importantly, he trusted Alucard and Dracula not to take advantage of that.

And neither one of them had. Not really.

Granted, things got a little dicey with Dracula just now, but he’d been as much of a gentleman as could be expected. Honestly, given that he was fucking chaos incarnate, he probably deserved a reward for his restraint. 

_Or maybe just a kick in the ass for being so pushy_, Eskel thought with mild exasperation. _Maybe both._

He took a deep breath and let the rage inside of him flow away. As his heart settled, Eskel realized he could start to feel the edges of what was _him_ and what was coming from Alucard. Earlier, their connection had been two-way, he was certain of it. 

Maybe it was still a two-way connection.

“I don’t blame you,” Eskel said quietly. He felt as much as heard Alucard’s swift intake of breath. “This…” he licked his lips and straightened upright. “This wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault.”

“You needn’t try to lie,” Alucard said bitterly. “I can feel how unhappy you are.”

Eskel snorted. “Lying about anything is too much work.” He tilted his head, almost but not quite looking behind him. There was no telling if he’d be affected by just looking at Alucard, so perhaps it was better to have this talk while staring at a wall. “Yeah. I’m...upset.” His voice cracked a little on the last word. Upset was too tame a descriptor for how shaken up he was, but it would have to do. He swallowed it down. “But not at you.”

“Can you even be mad at me?” Alucard asked softly. “Or have I taken that from you, too.”

Irritation spiked through Eskel. Alucard and his fucking martyr complex. He grabbed a pillow from next to him on the bed and hurled it behind him. It landed with a _whump_. Since Geralt only snorted, it probably didn’t hit him.

“Yes, you dick, I can in fact still get pissed off at you,” Eskel growled, still not turning to look where the pillow landed. He sighed and rubbed his face. “So when you do something that’s worthy of me getting mad I will let you know.”

Much like his anger, the irritation was short lived. The phantom pain of Alucard’s guilt eased and his own anxiety flowed into its place, like a pulsing dread that loomed in the back of his mind. 

They could feel each other. Still. He still wanted to turn around and go hold Alucard in his arms. Touch him. Comfort him. The itch to turn around and look at him was even worse. Was that his own desire to comfort someone he cared about, or some magical bullshit that made him want to touch?

If it was magically induced, how long would it last? Would he ever be able to leave Alucard’s presence again, or would any real distance between them slowly drive him mad as he hunted to touch someone who wasn’t even in the same damn reality?

_Fuck_. 

A powerful fear roared through him. It was very damn possible that he’d end up being Alucard’s..._something_ for the next several thousand years. Bound so tightly that he could never truly leave. He had no illusions that either Alucard or Dracula would let him live out his natural lifespan as a witcher. Even without whatever Alucard had done, Eskel had consumed enough of Dracula’s power to make him wonder how long he would really live. 

If Eskel had been in his own world, he would have run. Packed his armor, said fuck it to ever getting his swords back, and just fled. If only to see how far he could go.

But he was in fucking Castlevania City, watching Geralt’s broken ass. 

“Well, he certainly is as grumpy as he normally is,” Geralt said dryly. 

Without even lifting his head, Eskel raised one hand in a rude gesture.

“That he is,” Dracula said with mild amusement. From the sound of his voice, he was standing somewhere near the edge of the bed. Probably watching Eskel like the creeper he was. 

Gods. Eskel did feel a little grumpy. He also felt very justified in that. It had been a difficult week. Then he realized that Alucard might be feeling his distress, and suddenly Eskel felt guilty himself. 

“It’s alright,” Alucard said softly. The unhappiness was still in his voice, pressing against Eskel’s heart. It was just present enough that Eskel could feel that it was still there, like a very faint breeze. “You can feel however you want.”

Eskel sighed. This was going to be a massive pain in the ass. 

He rubbed one hand down his ravaged neck, ghosting over the painfully tender skin. Even though the little wounds stung, they were also a reminder of Dracula’s attentions. It was bizarrely comforting. 

Very bizarre, actually. 

“Have you noticed any other changes?” Alucard asked hesitantly.

There was a pause as Eskel considered how _weird_ his body felt. “...Yes. But what,” he shook his head, “I don’t know yet. But I am different.”

Eskel rummaged through the pile of gear on the table, found his potions, and quickly downed a Swallow. Within moments the bites and bruises all but disappeared, leaving nothing but smooth unblemished skin. He slipped on the shirt he’d carried out and swiftly buttoned it up leaving the top and bottom two buttons undone. 

Alucard didn’t say anything, but recognized the shirt. Eskel could feel it.

Then he felt fingers ghosting over the back of his neck. Eskel damn near jumped out of his skin in surprise, because he’d been sure that Dracula was on the other side of the bed. But no, the vampire was now right next to him looking disappointedly at Eskel’s neck.

“Fuck!” Eskel glared at Dracula. “You do that on purpose!”

Dracula looked at him with an _of course_ expression on his face. Geralt laughed.

“He loves freaking people out,” Geralt confirmed.

“Gods. Poor Matt and John,” Eskel said, half amused, half exasperated. “You worry them so much. I can practically taste it every time you all are in the same room.”

“What doesn’t kill them will make them stronger,” Dracula said with a smirk.

“What if it does kill them?” Alucard chimed in, all exasperation. “I won’t find other such talented people anywhere.”

“They’re fine,” Geralt said. “Confused, maybe. Which makes sense considering how little they know about us. But it’s fine. Eskel and I have been good.”

Alucard groaned suddenly. The sound and the corresponding tug in Eskel’s chest was enough to make him turn enough to get a good look at Alucard behind him. 

For a moment, Eskel’s heart beat double time at how beautiful he was. But only for a moment. Then the world shifted back into place, and Alucard looked as he always had. 

Except for the silver wisps of power that flowed out of him. 

_Fuck._

“I can’t believe they saw me in such a state.” Alucard cast a baleful eye at Dracula and only got a beatific smile in return.

“Half naked, high, and eager to touch?” Dracula looked like a cat that got both the canary and the cream. “One of your best looks in my opinion.”

“At least I got half a cuddle out of it,” Geralt said morosely.

“Your doctors are probably going insane right about now,” Eskel said quietly. He was still looking at them out of the corner of his eye. The urge to crawl over onto the bed dug under his skin like creeping vines. “It’s been, what? A full day? Two? Since they last had a visit with you.”

“There was a lot of sleeping. And then a lot of cuddling,” Geralt said, nodding in agreement. “Much more important than having them shake their heads at me and look disapproving.”

Alucard shifted on the bed a bit. “...I should go get dressed. Be presentable for their visit.”

“Wait,” Eskel said, twisting a little farther on the bed to get a better look at him. “Before you do that. We should.” He swallowed hard. “We should touch.”

Alucard turned to him, but his eyes were still fixed on the bed. It seemed Eskel wasn’t the only one a little afraid of direct eye contact.

“Are you sure?” Alucard asked softly.

“Better now, so we at least know what will happen,” Eskel said firmly. “Dracula can separate us if anything bad happens.” 

Alucard nodded, his hair falling forward and over his eyes again. Then he slid his hand over the bed, stopping roughly halfway between them and waited.

Since Eskel had been about to go wrap him up in a hug, he had to smile a little at Alucard’s restraint. He stared at the offered hand. Something so innocuous, yet filled with so much potential for disaster.

_Fortune favors the bold_, he thought to himself, and reached over to lay his hand on Alucard’s.

The shiver that ran from the top of his head to his toes was almost expected, but the fact that nothing more than a rush of pleasure happened was a surprise. It wasn’t much different than that of seeing a dear friend, or maybe a long time lover.

“You are clamping down hard on the thing between us, aren’t you?” Eskel asked, still holding Alucard’s hand. He turned it and slid their palms together, wrapping his fingers around Alucard’s wrist. After a moment he felt Alucard echo the gesture and hold on to him. His ability to sense what Alucard was feeling was fading rapidly. He could still feel churning emotions on the other end of the bond they shared, but they were becoming indistinct and distant. 

When he looked up from their connected hands, he could see the frown of concentration between Alucard’s brows.

Eskel frowned a tiny bit. “Let it go,” he said. When Alucard’s eyes flashed to him in surprise, he just raised his own eyebrows expectantly. “We should see what it’s like without additional interference. If only for a short time. It’s hard to plan around something we don’t fully know or understand.”

“I think you are underestimating my Son’s ability to suppress,” Dracula commented from the sidelines. 

“There were enough experiments with unplanned consequences today,” Alucard said, tugging at his hand.

Eskel let him go, withdrawing himself a bit as well. He tried very, very hard not to show just how much that disappointed him. Just as he hid the sense of loss that came when their hands parted. The itch to touch started up again, and Eskel noted a slight chill to his skin, too. 

He looked away, making his face a mask of blankness. If Alucard needed the distance, then so be it. Eskel felt again around the edges of that sense of Alucard inside of him and ruthlessly armored it up. Witchers weren’t really very good spellcasters, but they knew something of manipulating energies. If Alucard didn’t want to feel anything from him, then Eskel would do his best to make that happen. 

No matter how much it hurt. 

It only took a moment to build those internal walls, to put as much padding between them as possible. The sense of Alucard faded to basically nothing then, though the skin craving and chill in his bones remained. 

“You should get dressed,” Eskel said evenly. “Your shower is very nice, by the way. Take advantage of it.”

Dracula sighed loudly beside them.

“John had it put in.” Alucard smiled, just a tiny bit. “He got really enthusiastic with the renovations at some point.”

“He has good taste.” Eskel tried to keep up the even tone. He felt like he was fracturing inside. It was as if he’d just barely gained solid ground, and then Alucard’s rejection had pushed him right back off kilter again. “John is a smart man. I’ll go get him. It’s just about breakfast time anyways.”

He stood up.

“I’ll make sure you are free,” Alucard said quietly. “I won’t let whatever I did to you change that.”

A vast surge of bitterness filled Eskel up. He looked to Alucard and he knew that the pain inside of him had leaked out just a little, if only in his eyes and his voice. “Some ways of binding don’t limit us, they make us able to do more.”

“You had no desire to be bound to me prior to what I did to you.” Alucard stated calmly; not a single shred of emotion showed on his face.

“I’ve been bound to you the moment you pulled me in for a cuddle at Kaer Morhen’s kitchen fire. For months we’ve only been negotiating degree.”

“It’s not the same and we both know it.”

Eskel sighed. “It’s not. And no, I didn’t choose this. But it’s fucking stupid to not see what it can offer us. Or at the very least, see how bad the effects can get before we cut it off.” He shook his head, and looked at the floor, crossing his arms.

“Your defenses are low now. You need to rest and replenish, spend some time in your own head, before I consider trying again.” Alucard shook his head, too, looking about as stubborn as a mountain.

For a moment, Eskel was furiously angry all over again. “You are so much like your father it hurts. Doing what you think is best for me regardless of what I say about it. Fine then. You do what you want. You will anyways.”

Before he could say anything else, Eskel took himself out of the room. With every step, he slammed more of his will into blocking out the tentative bond between them. He could learn to live with the empty longing inside of him. 

What hurt even more than that was the possibility that Alucard would never again come to him for comfort. That with this, they’d lost that part of themselves, too. 

At least Dracula still might hold him once in a while. 

Eskel fled to the roof. On his way, he wished very badly for something to kill. 

\---

“Well, that went well,” Geralt said dryly, staring at the closed door that Eskel just fled out of. Without even a single weapon on him, too. 

His daggers and potions were still on the little table next to the bed. If that wasn’t a clear sign of distress, Geralt didn’t know what was. It bothered him more than he wanted to admit. Witchers slept with their weapons. Hell, when Geralt was mostly dead in the hospital he still had a blade on him. Only when they were most comfortable did they go unarmed. 

Being upset usually had the opposite effect. Unhappy witchers tended to bristle with so many weapons that they were more porcupine than man. Much like Eskel earlier this week. 

Which meant that right now Eskel either felt perfectly safe, or he was so blindingly pisssed off that he didn’t care about potential attack. Both of those things were very…un-witcher-like. If Geralt needed any proof that the bond Alucard instigated was affecting Eskel, he had some right here.

Geralt rubbed at his chest. The ache there bothered him because it wasn’t pain; it was more like a persistent itch that drove him mad. Sometimes, just for variety, he got the localized pins and needles. Those were always fun.

Alucard wasn’t looking at Geralt. He was sliding off the bed. His blue robe wrinkled and twisted as he got to the edge of the mattress, and then unfolded softly as he got up. He pulled it closed with angry, jerky movements and belted it tightly. Geralt watched the sharply swinging ends of his white hair and thought that even those looked upset.

“Alucard,” he tried.

“I’m going to take a shower.” Alucards words were quiet but clipped. He walked around the bed and then disappeared into the bathroom, his bare feet making no sound on the plushly carpeted floor.

Both Dracula and Geralt stared at the closed bathroom door. A moment later, the faint sounds of the shower started up. 

“There are two of them,” Dracula said with some resignation.

While Geralt dared to think he knew Alucard well, he’d been close friends with Eskel since childhood. Eskel might have been easygoing, but he had a quiet stubborn streak the size of Temeria. Likewise, while he was often grumbly, he nearly never truly lost his temper. When he did, though, it was usually spectacular. Given how Eskel left the room, Geralt suspected that this whole thing had actually finally pissed him off.

Geralt sighed and rubbed the bandage on his chest. “You think if I go in there, Alucard will listen to me?”

“He won’t kick you out,” Dracula said with confidence.

Geralt weighed the pros and cons.

“What do you think of...all this?” he asked, suddenly curious. Maybe Dracula had a little more insight. 

“Eskel is way too tense,” Dracula said. “He’s upset beyond what I have felt from him up ‘til now.” Then he hummed. “Alucard is a champion of people. To be guilty of causing harm is beyond his ability to let go of quickly.”

That made sense. Geralt grimaced. “Maybe I should have given you both the talk about being careful with him. Eskel doesn’t let many people in. He’s quick to forgive, too. I think it’s the rejection that hurts more for him than the bond itself.”

“Eskel didn’t know what he was asking for,” Dracula said, coming to sit on the edge of the bed. “Alucard is not a human. He is a uniquely powerful mage. If he wasn’t tamping down on that power, he could turn Eskel’s mind to ash, burn the sanity right out of him.” Dracula put his hand on Geralt’s knee. “What he and I are…it is not merely a different version of humanity. Your mind is strong, but not strong enough to survive the full force of what we are.” He shrugged. “Especially in a situation where Alucard doesn’t have any idea what he’s even doing.”

A little thrill of pleasure went through him at Dracula’s touch. He couldn’t resist leaning forward a touch to rest his hand on Dracula’s. Gods, he wanted Dracula’s hands on him all the time. 

“You’re right,” Geralt said. “Eskel didn’t know what he was asking for. But Alucard didn’t bother to explain, either. Eskel is an adult, and used to making his own decisions about the risks he takes. I’m also not sure Alucard realizes just how aggressively witchers pursue self enhancement.” He took a breath and blew it out slowly. His mind went in a dozen different directions as he tried to think the situation through. “And now Eskel is changed, and he doesn’t have the tools or skills to find the limits of that.”

“Alucard likes Eskel, a lot,” Dracula said. “The last time he liked a human was you.”

“And before that?”

“Maybe when he was still human himself?” Dracula said, looking at Geralt from the corner of his eye. “As long as I have known him, he believed himself to bring nothing but bad news to the living.”

Geralt winced, though he had to admit he wasn’t surprised. The sheer amount of guilt that Alucard must feel over this must be massive. 

“Just when I thought they both might becoming a little happier,” Geralt grumbled. “If this goes poorly for them, Alucard will never forgive himself. But if he can’t come to some kind of compromise with Eskel, that could be just as bad.”

“I don’t think you should encourage Alucard to open the bond, but maybe he should just get Eskel into bed?” Dracula offered. 

That made Geralt bark out in laughter. “Sex solves all ills? Do you really think that will help, or is it just the fact that you want Eskel, and the more pleasure your son gets, the better?”

“Sex would bind Eskel more thoroughly,” Dracula said, unexpectedly ruthlessly. “If Alucard was a lover, Eskel wouldn’t be so skittish and nervous in his expectations.”

Geralt traced the top of Dracula’s hand with one finger while he thought that through. “I don’t know about that. Sex and, I don’t know, _love_ are two very different things for Eskel. He gives more of himself with you two without ever getting his dick involved than he ever has with anyone he’s fucked.”

“Yet at the same time he’s using sex as the final border, the line that he can point at and convince himself he doesn't need to decide yet, because it hasn’t yet been crossed.”

“I think there was also the matter of if he liked dicks at all,” Geralt said with amusement. He tilted his head curiously. “What does he need to decide?”

“Dicks,” Dracula waved his hand as if chasing a fly away. “He needs to know if he wants to jump fully in or back away. This half here, half there situation isn’t any good long term.”

“You have him locked into a contract on his soul. Only you would think that is still a half commitment.” Geralt smiled.

“_He_ thinks he isn’t committed.” Dracula said. “_He_ thinks he needs to make a decision.” Dracula shook his head. “It’s making him stress so much.”

“I feel like you also have a vested interest in him choosing to go all in.” Geralt gave him a knowing look. “Though I have been very impressed with your restraint.”

Dracula tilted his head back, his hair falling off of his shoulders. His eyes were closed, and his eyelashes looked dark and long against his face. “I have a feeling that if he gives in by himself, he won’t ever try to pull back. I will own the whole of him, every little piece.”

A tiny shiver raced up Geralt’s spine. He knew very well just how powerful and all-encompassing Dracula’s desire was. Once given, his love was an endless well, and he would only be satisfied with complete commitment in return. That was tempered by the knowledge that Dracula was surprisingly soft on his lovers, giving them whatever he thought might make them happy. 

The moment Geralt had seen the mark on Eskel’s chest, he knew what Dracula was after. He couldn’t bring himself to be too concerned about it, though. Dracula and Eskel would be good for each other.

“Eskel is a cat,” Geralt said finally. “The moment you chase, he’ll run. You have to lure him in. But once he’s decided you’re _his_, he is very devoted.” The irony of that statement wasn't lost on Geralt, and he held back a snicker.

“So, what you are saying is some pets and belly rubs will fix the problem?” Dracula peeked at him, his eyebrows slightly raised.

Geralt snorted, then paused to think about it. “Fix? No. But...it might help. Did you see how they both relaxed when they held hands? It makes me wonder how much they miss it when they aren’t touching.”

“Hmm.” Dracula nodded. “Since the bond seems more two directional than not, I would say it’s closer to a Familiar bond than a Thrall.”

That was a small blessing. But it did bring up another worry. “Familiars share some of their mage's power. Sometimes their abilities, too. Alucard can’t leave him without instruction.”

“It’s going to be interesting either way,” Dracula said with a wry chuckle.

“Understatement.” Geralt snorted. He looked up and down Dracula’s body, taking in the soft black fabrics and the way they offset Dracula’s pale skin. Lovely.

“You don’t understand.” Dracula turned his head enough he could again look at Geralt out of the corner of his eye. “It’s interesting, because I don’t think Alucard is aware of his own powers and abilities. With the way he starved himself for so long, he hasn’t yet reached his full potential.”

“Oh.” Geralt blinked. “_Oh_. Oh no. Eskel may manifest things that Alucard himself hasn’t dealt with. Or even acknowledged.” He covered his face with one hand and sighed. 

“Exactly.” Dracula turned to Geralt fully. “Which is why it would be better if he was fully mine by that point. I could limit the damage.”

Geralt shook his head. “Force him and you’ll break him. And he’s not the only one who will be upset.”

“I’m not forcing,” Dracula protested. “I’m _nudging_.”

“Uh huh.” Geralt’s voice was flat with disbelief. “Nudge less. You’ll get better results.”

He thought about how Eskel was planning to chat with Dracula about maybe trying out sex. How Dracula handled that would greatly influence how willing Eskel was to experiment. 

“If nothing drastic happens, I will give him space. If things go bad, I will step in,” Dracula decided. “Though, knowing Alucard, the suppression shouldn't be a problem.”

Geralt nodded, a little relieved. He trusted Dracula to do his best to keep things from turning too disastrous. 

“All right, help me up.” Geralt extended his arms towards Dracula.

“Why?”

“I need to make sure Alucard doesn’t suppress himself into a coma,” he grumbled. Gods only knew what Alucard would convince himself to do if left alone too long.

“Seems like a good plan to me.” Dracula nodded and shifted. “He will let you in easier than me.” 

Then he took hold of Geralt’s arms and pulled him up with careful and steady force. 

As Geralt got his feet under him, another thought occurred to him. 

“...I wonder if Eskel remembered to ask John for food.” His stomach growled quietly, and he held onto his belly, feeling a little forlorn. 

“Let’s make a deal,” Dracula rumbled. Geralt could almost taste the way the very fabric of reality vibrated at those words, as if waiting for what would happen next. “You make sure my son doesn’t spend the next few months as an uncommunicative wolf, and I will hunt down John.”

Geralt side eyed Dracula hard. “I’m not sure those are equivalent tasks, given that I can just send a message to John on the tablet.” He pointed to the device on the end table. 

The edges of Dracula’s jacket started to unravel a bit; the black cloth stretched out and round shapes started to slowly pull away from it. One, two, and then twenty small, black bats separated from Dracula and circled each other in a small swarm. 

They flew over and enveloped the tablet. Their small bodies obscured Geralt’s view of it before they suddenly burst into shadows and then disappeared completely. The tablet was gone too, with not even a trace of it left.

“Noooo,” Geralt said softly, reaching out one hand towards the now empty table top. “Iga filled that with sex shows. I was going to watch once the doctors said it was alright.” 

He held back a pout. Witchers didn’t pout. It wasn’t becoming of the image. He might have been pouting anyways. 

“Now they’re stuck wherever Eskel’s swords are,” he said sadly.

Dracula’s eyes widened and then narrowed. Geralt could all but _feel_ him scheming.

“I forgot about the swords,” Dracula said slowly.

“We know. Everyone knows. Eskel’s been moping all week.”

“We can use them to lure Eskel back in.”

That made Geralt’s brows knit with worry. “Normally, I’d say that might work, but…” he shrugged. “He already left his other weapons here. Didn’t even pause to take a dagger.”

The idea of any of them being in a strange city unarmed was incredibly unsettling. Even if it was just Alucard’s building.

“Didn’t you say you’d give them back anyways?” Geralt asked, one eyebrow raised.

“Yes,” Dracula said, nodding. “But I said I would give them back when we leave or when he needs them. I could, possibly, give them back a bit earlier.”

“If you think it’ll work…” Geralt shrugged. It was a solid plan. Witchers were deeply attached to their swords. 

His stomach clenched a little and he sighed. 

“In the meantime,” Dracula purred. “Think of what you are willing to trade for the tablet.”

“You know I can’t guarantee that Alucard won't just shut us all out for months. The best I can do is try to talk to him.” Geralt glared pointedly at him. “Which I was going to do anyways.”

“A little deal on the side won’t hurt anything,” Dracula said, sounding really pleased.

This is what he got for being the Devil’s lover. Geralt sighed. 

“As long as you know I’ll only _try_. I’m not going to lose the last remnants of my soul because Alucard can’t manage to pull his head out of his ass no matter who is talking to him. You need to go get John to bring food. And I want my tablet back, before I get done talking to Alucard in the bathroom.” He looked slyly at Dracula for a second. “And I demand kisses.”

“That’s a lot of demands for one conversation. I’m already bringing you food. I also agree to kisses.” Dracula raised his eyebrows. “You have to work harder for a tablet filled with sex shows, though.”

Geralt hummed, but nodded. “Alright. Kisses first.”

“Acceptable,” Dracula agreed. “Now,” he purred, gripping Geralt’s shoulders tightly. His voice dropped to a low growl. “Hold on.” 

Geralt managed to take in a breath before Dracula was on him, his lips hot and possessive. He licked into Geralt as if he owned him; one hand gripping tightly at the back of his neck. The kiss was deep and wet, and he sucked at Geralt’s tongue as if he was going to drink his soul that way. He gave no quarter, gave Geralt not a single second to gather his wits; he just licked and explored as if he was starving and Geralt was a feast served just for him. By the time he pulled away, Geralt’s lips were swollen, stinging, and wet and his breath came out in short pants. 

Dracula’s eyes were dark and he kept looking down at Geralt’s lips like he was considering starting everything all over again. Geralt unclenched his hands from where they were dug into Dracula’s clothes and tried to verify he was capable of standing straight.

“Gods,” Geralt breathed out. He licked his lips, chasing the taste of Dracula, savoring it. It took a hard swallow or two before he was ready to talk again. All he could think about was Dracula’s hands on him, teasing him, filling him. “Yes.” He gave a short jerking nod. “More of that. Soon. Please.”

“That depends on the doctors,” Dracula said mildly, still standing so close their chests brushed each other. “Now, I believe we still have one more deal to settle.”

It took an effort of will to get his brain to remember what Dracula was talking about. 

“Right. The tablet.” Geralt raised his eyebrows at Dracula. “What do you want?”

Dracula pouted.

“I was hoping for some outrageous offer.” He looked very disappointed.

“Oh really…” Geralt smirked. Then he looked down to his still bandaged and mending body. “Not much I can offer now,” he said quietly. He shrugged a little and smirked again. “After I’m healed though…” He looked at Dracula from under his lashes.

“I accept IOUs,” Dracula perked up.

Geralt grinned. “I could put on a show for you. It's only fair, since you’d be giving me something fun to watch. Would you like that? Watching me play and touch.”

“I would love to torture you a little,” Dracula purred. His hands slid down to Geralt’s hips and closed over them, warm and strong.

A shiver raced up Geralt’s back. 

“Yeah?” Geralt asked, swallowing through a suddenly dry throat. “Like how?”

Dracula lowered his eyelids until his long lashes almost touched his cheeks.

“I would like to put you on my lap,” he said in a low rumble. “On my cock,” he added, as if Geralt hadn’t already figured that out. “I would spread your legs, touch you all over and watch over your shoulder as you make yourself come over and over again.” His voice was barely more than a growl. “I wouldn't fuck you, wouldn't do anything but sit there and let you feel me for _hours_.”

Geralt closed his eyes and whined, soft and high. Heat curled in his gut and he had to tense up, putting stress on his broken bones. That little bit of pain was enough for him to keep himself from getting more aroused than he was capable of dealing with. 

“Oh, you cruel bastard. Making me think about that when I can’t have it right now. Fuck.” He swallowed hard. “Yes, I would very much like that. I would be so good for you.”

“It’s a deal, then.” Dracula looked pleased as a peach, with a hint of a smile crinkling his eyes. 

Geralt could feel the power that sluiced down his back and prickled over his skin as the deal settled into place. It made Geralt smile, and he leaned in to rest more of his weight on Dracula. He laid his arms on Dracula’s shoulders and nuzzled into his jaw. “I am very much looking forward to paying up,” he breathed.

“And I will keep you to your word,” Dracula rumbled. Then he reached out. Shadows boiled around his hand, twisting and curling like an angry rain cloud. When it cleared, wisps of darkness fading into nothing, he had the tablet in his hand.

Geralt smiled, pleased to see it back. “Those things are more useful than I thought they would be. It can hold so many books! John showed me how to buy new ones and have them just show up, ready to read.” He trailed a hand over the device and his smile turned into a grin. “I’m in the middle of one about strange religious cults. Included a group that worships Alucard.”

“He has his own cult?” Dracula sounded jealous.

“Two at least, though they don’t know they’re worshiping the same being. One worships his humanoid form, another his wolf form. I think there are different subgroups too.” Geralt was both incredibly amused and rather impressed. “I wonder if he even knows.”

“He’s probably avoided the attention.”

“Which only makes him more mysterious and thus more interesting to humans.” Geralt snickered. 

A wave of tired hit him, and he sagged a little in Dracula’s arms. He sighed. “Help me to the bathroom? Better get to this while I can still stand a little.”

“I wish I could breathe power into you,” Dracula grumped but wrapped his arm around his back, taking on most of Geralt’s weight. “Even just a little.”

“Trust me, I feel the same way. Soon, though I bet.” Geralt added the days in his head and absently ran a hand up and down his torso where he’d been cut open. “Less than a week.”

“It can’t happen fast enough,” Dracula muttered, all but carrying Geralt to the bathroom door. He pushed it slightly open and looked at Geralt. “Don’t let him fall into guilt too deeply.”

Dracula slowly let go of Geralt, waiting patiently for him to regain his balance. “I will get John with food and lure our skittish witcher back.”

Right before Dracula let go completely, Geralt grabbed hold of his hand and kissed it, sweet and soft. He let every bit of his love and devotion show in his eyes as he kissed. 

It got him a tiny smile, just a little thing, there and gone.

“Wish me luck,” Geralt said ruefully.

“I believe in your assets.”

Geralt snorted in amusement, and eased his way into the bathroom. He had to keep one hand on the wall. The splint on his broken ankle and foot were sturdy enough to take some weight, but he couldn’t really walk without support yet. The doctors had flat refused to give him a crutch. Probably because they knew he would use it at every possible chance. 

As carefully as he could, Geralt moved along the wall to come to rest on the plush couch halfway into the room. Under the smell of all the various soaps was the faint scent of Dracula and Eskel. No doubt that wasn’t doing Alucard any favors.

Alucard was under the shower. He wasn’t doing anything other than standing under the hot spray, hands braced on the wall and head lowered. His long, wet hair was plastered to his naked back, long enough that the ends reached the swell of his buttocks. He looked beautiful. His body was like carved marble, all muscle and strong bone. 

He also still looked upset.

Geralt took a moment to settle himself into the seat, propping up his splinted leg on the couch. Getting comfortable was good, but he also wanted to see if Alucard would acknowledge him at all. He suspected no, but was willing to wait a minute and see.

Time ticked by as the heat of the shower soaked into Geralt’s bones. It was nice. Soothing.

Alucard didn’t move, didn’t even shift his head, just let the water beat down on him in silence.

_Hmmmm,_ Geralt thought. _Maybe better to come at this sideways._

“You know,” he started. “The trials aren’t the last time witchers are enhanced. Throughout our lives, as we kill our way through the world, we cut out the useful parts of those we slay. It’s brutal, if you think about it. We chop them up and eat them.” 

Geralt snorted in amusement. “Though generally we make the parts into potions first. Most of our alchemy is based on herbs or minerals, but we use blood, flesh, and bones too. The potions usually have a very short term effect. But some don’t. Some monsters we seek out, we look for those bounties with relish because we can take the bodies apart and make ourselves better. Stronger and faster. More inhuman.”

He paused, looking to see if Alucard had shifted at all. 

His head was higher and tilted just slightly towards Geralt. Wet hair was plastered to his face, making it impossible to read his expression at all.

“There’s even a song. Our lullaby.” Geralt smiled a little. “Monsters sing it to each other, passing on the warning of what we are.” He shook his head and shrugged a little. “We pass recipes between us, even between schools, to find more. To become more than what we are. I’ve taken dozens of these, myself. Mutating beyond what my teachers dreamed for me. And let me tell you, there has been some dubious shit I have choked down on the off chance that it would have an effect.” He laughed, thinking back on some of the vile things he’d poured down his gullet.

“You experiment on yourself?” Alucard asked quietly, not yet letting Geralt see his face.

“Oh yes. Not often. There just aren’t a lot of opportunities, and the creatures we use for ingredients aren’t common. We do it in the manner in which we are made, drinking it in. You think it was a coincidence both Eskel and I took so well to Dracula breathing power into us?” Geralt snorted. “We know how to swallow power.”

He dragged his tongue over his teeth, and considered how to phrase his words. “It’s not that we don’t know the risks. We do. But we’re driven to constantly become more than what we are. It’s not about the power. It’s about mastery of self.”

“Why?” Alucard asked. “There are so many ways to master yourself, why risk the mutations?”

Geralt hummed in thought. In many ways this was hard to articulate. Every witcher fundamentally felt the same way, so understanding was already shared. No one else bothered to want to know, or if they asked it was only with an eye to steal the secrets of witcher mutations for themselves.

“Part of it could just be how we’re trained. There is such a thing as ingrained, learned behavior. I think it might have more to do with the way witchers are in tune with their bodies, though.” 

Geralt looked down at himself, and thought of every single way he’d been altered over the years. “Most of what we are is focused on what we physically can do. That is our greatest weapon and advantage, so that’s what we look to hone and sharpen. If you know how to use a sword, and know it well, doesn’t it make sense to get the best sword you can? A crossbow might be a handy addition, and maybe you pick one up along the way, but getting the perfect sword and gaining absolute mastery over it becomes the sanest choice.”

He took a breath. This would be tricky. “Now picture that you’ve got your sword, and it's a good one. But something has happened to change it. The balance is off and it looks different than you expect. A witcher’s very first instinct is to test each and every one of those differences. Anything left unknown has the potential to turn deadly. Worse than that is the knowledge that the one thing you know better than everything else in the world has suddenly become a stranger. We can deal with it. We do so, over and over, every time we change ourselves. But we do so by embracing it. Testing it. Making the unknown familiar once again.”

“It makes no sense,” Alucard growled, turning to face Geralt fully. “It’s insanity. Nothing you’ve said makes any damn sense whatsoever!”

Geralt stared at Alucard facing him in all his naked glory, panting with upset. His hands were clenched at his sides and his hair was plastered to his face, neck, and chest.

“Gods, you are pretty,” Geralt blurted out.

Alucard growled. He grabbed a washcloth that was hanging on a little hook inside the stall and lobbed it at Geralt in that same movement. The wet cotton hit Geralt right in the face.

“You are insane!” Alucard huffed. “You are _all_ insane.”

Geralt dragged the wet cloth off of his face, dropped it on the floor, and wiped the excess water off with his other hand. He just looked at Alucard and shrugged. “Basically everyone who isn’t a witcher says the same thing.”

It was true, too. Geralt had been called mad far, far more times than he’d been called a freak or a mutant.

“No wonder you and my Father understand each other so well,” Alucard dragged his hand over his face, pushing the wet hair away. “He did the same exact thing.”

“I can’t speak for your father, but keep in mind that for witchers, the ones who couldn’t embrace the changes died in agony.” Geralt shrugged again, unable to muster up much feeling about it. “It’s very possible that this just weeded out the sane ones. Either way, it’s how we are.”

“And the purpose of this story is what?” Alucard spoke as he left the shower suddenly. He headed for the cabinet full of large, fluffy towels and pulled one out with jerky movements. He shook out a deep, sapphire blue one that was at least two inches thick and wrapped it around his waist. Geralt gave a tiny moue of regret at the fact that the beautiful view was being covered.

“It was to explain to you why Eskel is driven so mad by leaving the bond between you undefined. The fact that it was made, he’s already forgiven. He may not have come to terms with the _situation_ yet, but he wouldn’t hold any ill will towards _you_.”

Alucard pulled another towel out of the cabinet; a slightly smaller one this time but in the same amazing blue color as the first.

“Imagine you had a kitten that liked to warm itself by the fire,” Alucard all but snarled, bending down to toss his hair forward over his head. It was so long it almost reached the ground. He put his new towel over the back of his head and started twisting it and the hair together in vicious little tugs. “Would you toss the kitten _into_ the fire just because it thinks fire is warm?” 

He straightened, pushing the twisted mass of towel and hair back behind him. Then he tucked the tail into the back of the towel wrapped around his head, creating something that looked remarkably like a Zerrikanian head covering. 

Alucard looked to Geralt expectantly, his eyes sparkling with temper.

“Of course not, and you're wise to do what you can to keep Eskel safe. But he’s not a kitten, with no brains to speak of. He craves understanding. He needs you to tell him the risks and work with him on making a plan on how to move forward. He’s not unreasonable. He’ll listen if you explain things and offer reasonable alternatives. But he won’t be whole until he knows exactly what his body can now do. Or at least has a plan of action about finding out.”

Alucard huffed, but said nothing. He just turned to the cabinet and pulled out yet another towel. This one got wrapped around his shoulders and he used the ends to rub his chest dry.

“How many of those do you usually use after a bath?” Geralt couldn’t contain himself. He had to know. Alucard had used three already and he didn’t look anywhere close to done.

Alucard blinked at him, obviously taken aback by the question.

“Four to five,” he said. Then he pointed at his head. “This one will be soaked through soon, so I will need to change it and there are still my feet.” He looked down as if considering his own feet. Then he frowned and looked Geralt over critically. “How many do you use?”

“...One.”

The way Alucard just stood and blinked at him was unbelievably adorable. It was impossible for Geralt to keep the soft smile off of his face. Gods, he was lucky to be Alucard’s lover.

“Can I help you dry your hair?” he asked. “You could sit in front of me, and I could towel you dry.”

Alucard’s eyes flicked over Geralt’s body.

“Are you sure you are up to that?” he asked tentatively.

“I can stop if I get too tired.” Geralt tilted his head in a shrug. “But I could do at least a little, and I love touching you.”

Carefully, Geralt shifted up on the couch and put his splinted foot back down on the floor. He left his knees open and then grabbed one of the pillows on the couch to toss onto the floor. “Sit?”

For all the luxury of the tower, Alucard was a warrior who was more than familiar with the hardships of such a life. He wouldn’t balk at sitting on the floor.

It took a while, but Alucard reached into the cupboard, pulled out two more thick towels, and then finally headed towards Geralt. He folded down gracefully, sitting with his back to Geralt. The twisted mass of hair and towels lay in easy reach.

The towels were soft. Very, very soft. Geralt spent a moment just running his hands over the one that Alucard had wrapped his hair in. His own hair was on the longer side, reaching just past his shoulders, but that was nothing compared to Alucard’s lovely mane. 

Rather than unwrapping it right away, he just took gentle handfuls and tightened his grip, causing the towel to soak up the water a little faster. As he worked, he loosened the towel little bit at a time, so eventually Alucard’s mass of wet curls and cloth fell onto his lap. Grabbing dry parts of the towel, Geralt rubbed the wet locks between them, dragging more moisture out.

While he worked he took careful note of Alucard’s body language. Granted, in this position he wouldn’t be able to see Alucard’s face, but that might work to his advantage. Alucard might feel a little safer to express emotion if Geralt couldn’t see his expression.

Slowly but surely, the tension in Alucard’s body faded. It was replaced by a depressed-looking slump to his shoulders. Geralt knew damn well that Alucard loved having his hair played with. He’d hoped that the extra physical contact would leave Alucard a little more open to talking and actually processing his feelings, rather than just wallowing in them. This was also one of Geralt’s favorite activities, so this was a win-win as far as he was concerned. 

He worked in silence for a few minutes, waiting to see if Alucard would start talking first. Each move was slow and cautious. He had to stop fairly regularly; even this small activity was tiring. 

He loved the feel of Alucard’s silky and cool hair between his fingers. It moved like water, falling from between his fingers so gently. He liked the contrast of the cool hair and the hot skin of Alucard’s head. He pressed the edge of a fresh towel there, running his hands over the surface, waiting for the moisture to soak in before he moved to another spot.

When it became apparent that Alucard wasn’t going to say anything, Geralt figured it was time to poke the hornet’s nest again. There were things that he needed to say that he damn well knew Alucard wouldn’t want to hear. People who were determined to blame themselves for something were often upset to hear that they shouldn’t.

“This isn’t your fault, you know,” he said quietly.

“It was my power.” 

“Yes. And because of that, you should do what you can to take responsibility. But you don’t need to punish yourself for an accident.” He stroked his hand down Alucard’s head. There was an ache in his chest that had nothing to do with surgery or poisoned arrows. Geralt hated to see his loved ones so torn up. 

“I should have never let myself indulge like that.” Alucard shook his head, tension ratcheting up in his body. “I’m doing my best to cut him off from the connection I formed.”

_Shit._ Geralt winced. He couldn’t help but think that might be, maybe not the worst case scenario, but certainly not on the list of good outcomes.

“...How is that going for you?” he asked finally. 

“The same way everything else in my life did. _Painfully_,” Alucard said bitterly.

“Oh, pretty wolf,” Geralt whispered, cradling the side of Alucard’s head in one hand. With his other hand, he stroked down Alucard’s hair. It wasn’t much, but it was the comfort he could give. “I’m here. Dracula and I both love you dearly. We aren’t going anywhere. No matter what’s happened. You’re not alone.”

Alucard's shoulders came up to around his ears as he crumpled in on himself. There was the telltale sound of fabric being rubbed together. From the slight shift of his arms, Geralt knew that he’d clenched up his hands into fists.

“He trusted me,” Alucard said, his voice tight. “It was my responsibility to respect that trust.” His body tensed even more, so still and hard that he was barely more than a marble figure between Geralt’s legs. “It’s not what happened, it’s _how_ it happened.”

Geralt thought that over. “You know he still trusts you. He wouldn’t have offered to allow the bond to be opened up if he didn’t. If Eskel thought you weren’t worthy of his trust still, he would have been clamoring for you to find some way to break it.”

That got a reaction. Alucard shook his head sharply, and sniffed hard. 

“You are all insane,” he said harshly. 

“We hear that a lot,” Geralt agreed easily. He ran his fingers through Alucard’s hair, slowly fluffing as he went. 

“I just feel trapped,” Alucard whispered, his voice rough with pain. “I’m stuck in a situation without escape. Eskel is angry that I won’t kill him or take away his autonomy by releasing all my power through the bond. What the hell am I supposed to do? Let Eskel become not much more than a thrall? Or become the villain for refusing to do the very thing that would destroy him?” 

That last bit was said in almost a snarl.

Geralt hummed and tried to pet him down. “There’s probably some kind of middle ground. You’ll have to talk it over with him, though. He’s a witcher, he’ll want to know what he can do. But knowing Eskel, I wonder if it’s not the lack of closeness that bothers him more.”

“I was not the one who _ran_,” Alucard grumbled, shifting the towels spread around him until he found the last dry one and covered his legs with it. There was almost nothing of his flesh visible. Geralt did his best not to laugh at the slow and purposeful wrapping that Alucard did over time.

“I’ll grant you, he probably could have handled the situation better,” Geralt said with dry amusement. He sighed, and started carefully drying hair again. “Eskel has a habit of getting things twisted up in his head. Maybe he thought that’s what you wanted?”

“How should I know?” Alucard sounded grumpy. 

“There’s this crazy thing called talking to people.” Geralt huffed in amusement. 

“Never heard of such a thing,” Alucard grumbled. “Should have shifted,” he added under his breath.

“You could still do that. I’d miss you if you left though. No matter what happens, I’m glad you’re here. My days are happier every time I see you. Your wolf form is beautiful, but I dearly love looking at this form as well.” That earned him a snort. “It’s true! Gods, the things I want to do to you…”

“You’re still hurt,” Alucard grumbled.

“Seeing you wander around in those delectable looking clothes makes me count the seconds until I’m well again.” Geralt tightened his legs to press them against Alucard’s sides. He wanted, needed to feel more of him against his body. “Fuck,” he groaned, “you drive me to distraction.” 

For a moment, Geralt was lost in happy fantasy. Alucard in soft grey suits. Or blue to highlight his lovely hair. Pants fitting so tightly he could see the perfect shape of his ass. That lovely trim waist and the powerful muscles that expensive fabric hid. Delicate cuffs that showed off his large, powerful hands. Small, shining stones at his wrists and tie, bringing attention to his wonderful eyes. Even though Geralt knew that Alucard needed his contacts to blend in, he was always happy to see Alucard’s natural eye coloring. 

“You’re incorrigible,” Alucard said. The words were still a grumble, but some of the heat had faded. Geralt could feel him leaning just slightly against Geralt’s legs.

Geralt hummed in agreement as he patted down the ends of Alucard’s hair. 

“What _do_ you want?” Geralt asked, inhaling the spicy scent of Alucard’s shampoo. “If you could have a best possible outcome, what would that be?” 

He had to pause his gentle touching again. Already he was getting tired. After a breath he rallied his strength and began again. Alucard needed him. 

“What does it even matter? I’m not the one at risk here.” The words themselves were bitter, almost defeated but the way Alucard’s body tightened up said that he was hurt more than anything he said implied. 

“It matters to me.” Geralt insisted. “I know for a fact it matters to Dracula, and I am fairly sure it still matters to Eskel.”

“I don’t have the luxury to think of myself anymore.” Alucard shook his head. “This connection is something that’s a part of me and I have to take it into account always. I can’t risk indulging myself at his expense.”

“I’m not asking about what you should do,” Geralt said gently. “I want to know what you _want_.” He put his hand on the back of Alucard’s head and rubbed the skin there. “What you _wish_ for.”

Alucard made a long exhale, a sound that was more thoughtful than angry or exasperated.

“I want things to be like they were before. Eskel is a friend. I don’t want to lose that.”

“So you won’t try to push Eskel away for his own good?” Geralt asked, curious.

“I’m not going to chase him down and force him, like other people we know are wont to do. If he doesn’t want anything to do with me, this is how it stays.”

Geralt had to stop moving. There was a fine tremble in his hands, and his chest ached from sitting upright. But he wasn’t done talking to Alucard. 

“But if he does come to you, you wouldn’t mind it? I saw you try and pull away from his hand. He let you go because you wanted it.” He tried to keep his tone even, but he was quickly coming to the edge of his energy.

“He was angry,” Alucard said with a shudder. “At me. Horrifically angry. I will not be forced into harming him because I was feeling guilty.”

Something in the way Alucard said that gave Geralt pause. “You know that you aren’t responsible for his happiness, right? Yes, you two are connected and there’s probably going to be some kind of overlap. But it’s not your job to make him happy. Magical bond aside, that’s probably an exercise in futility anyways. I’ve known Eskel for a long time and he is regularly grumpy as hell.”

The silence that followed that was a thoughtful one, and a little bit of the tension eased out of Alucard’s spine. 

“What is it that you want from me, Geralt?” Alucard asked finally. There was weariness in his voice, but a little confusion and curiosity, too. Which was excellent.

“In general? I’d like for both you and Eskel not to turn into hermits. In specific? I’ll settle for you trying to talk this out with him,” he said grimly. “All of this...it’s left him upset and disoriented. You, too, I think.”

Alucard slumped down a little further and sighed unhappily.

“I liked Eskel from the moment I met him, you know that. I don’t want to lose a friend. But I can’t do everything, Geralt. I can’t both seek more contact, seek to deepen the bond and block the bond at the same time. I cannot do it alone.” 

“So you need him to be on board with blocking it, too?” Geralt rubbed a lock of hair between his fingers, and leaned back to rest his aching ribs. Just for a minute, then he’d lean forward again. 

“It would make things easier, yes.” Alucard sighed. “He keeps pushing so I have to fight on both ends.” He rubbed his face.

“Alright. That’s a good place to start.” It took far more effort than Geralt was willing to admit, but he mustered up his energy and leaned forward to squeeze Alucard’s shoulders. “We’ll figure this out. All of us together. Everything will be alright.”

“All of us together,” Alucard said dully. He tilted his head into one of Geralt’s hands. “You’re so certain that this won’t end in tragedy?” 

“Absolutely.” Geralt’s voice was firm and optimistic. “We’re here to support you, and both Dracula and I can run interference with Eskel.”

Alucard stilled under his hands. “Wait, what.”

“It’ll all be fine,” he said soothingly. “Dracula is already out doing damage control with Eskel. He’ll help calm him down.”

“Oh _god_,” Alucard groaned, and then started to laugh. “Father. On _damage control_.”

Geralt had to snicker along with him. It did seem like an unlikely prospect, but Eskel and Dracula were close. It should work. 

Before he had a chance to say anything else, Alucard stood up. The towels shifted around him and he had to clutch at them in various places to keep everything in place.

“Time to get dressed,” Alucard said softly. He still looked worried and upset, but it wasn’t the spine breaking anger and guilt that he’d sported earlier. His eyes flickered to Geralt and then he paused, his eyes narrowed. “You have an unfulfilled deal resting on you.”

“Dracula stole my tablet filled with sex shows,” Geralt said, slumping despondantly into the couch. “I had to bargain to get it back, though…” A filthy smirk spread across his face. “I’m really, _really_ looking forward to paying up.”

“Insatiable, both of you.” Alucard rubbed a hand down his face and shook his head a little bit. “You know John could have just gotten you another tablet, right?”

“What would be the fun in that?” Geralt asked, eyes wide.

Alucard snorted, and then headed into the walk-in closet.

“Maybe you could join us for that little event?” Geralt called after him, unable to keep a hopeful smile off of his face. 

He heard a faint harumph through the open door, but after a moment he heard Alucard grumble, “You are mad. But...sometimes your ideas do have merit.”

_Yessss_. 

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More notes because we were stunned and honored to receive art for this chapter!  
Lovely [Rikeris](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rikeris) made us this, go and check it out!  
[Rage by Claymorart](http://fav.me/ddp7chq)


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes from Quarra: Thank you all for the wonderful well wishes. I deeply appreciate it. Things are mildly better for me. So, here is another chapter a bit early. This one is also one of my favorites, so I hope you all enjoy it.

_...Look forward to our meeting next week. Please bring a full printed portfolio, as well as your presentation. Thanks, John Smith…_

John saved the message to drafts and took a breath. He would double check it before he left for the day and then he’d send it off. Mostly he just didn’t want to seem too eager. The start up he was investigating had some very interesting ideas; if their basic pitch panned out, it would be extremely lucrative to fold them into Bioquimek’s research group. 

But that negotiation would take some maneuvering. He was certain that Bioquimek was their best shot at completing their trials, but that didn’t mean there was no competition. John would have to let them worry long enough to make them more malleable to his terms, but not so long that they started seriously looking at alternatives. He hoped that Trevor would be available to attend. His presence always had a tendency to overawe, and he ruthlessly used that to his advantage. They’d secured so many deals simply because Trevor was an indomitable force. 

John leaned back in his chair and sighed. 

Then he _screamed_, short and high.

Gabriel Belmont was sitting in the chair in front of his desk. How had he even gotten there? Did his secretary just not see him? Was she ordered to stay quiet while he snuck in to scare the life out of John?

“Is this what you do all day?” Belmont Sr. asked, looking around the room. John’s office wasn’t as palatial as Trevor’s, but it was very nice. Large windows, heavy padauk rosewood desk, and a couple tasteful paintings on the walls. Seascapes, both of them, featuring vast rolling waves shining in the sun. John found them very soothing.

He swallowed hard and tried to get his racing heartbeat under control. 

“I, uh, I mean. Kind of?” He straightened his tie nervously. “I do whatever Mr. Belmont requires of me. Sometimes that means personally scouting people, places, or businesses. Usually there’s a lot of talking to people and organizing things. I arrange anything he needs done, from business meetings to renovations to making sure he eats breakfast.” 

John shrugged a little, suddenly feeling incredibly self-conscious.

“Ah.” Belmont Sr. nodded. “It makes sense. My son would never have chosen the lavish bathroom for himself.” He inclined his head towards John. “Good job. I have enjoyed the showers immensely.”

“Oh. Um. Thank you.” A hot blush raced across his cheeks and ears. “Mr. Belmont doesn’t often think of himself. I consider it part of my job to make sure that he’s kept as comfortable as he’ll allow.”

Belmont Sr. smiled and John wanted very much to hide under his desk to get away from that all too knowing gaze.

He swallowed hard again and resisted fidgeting. “How can I help you, sir? I’m, ah, guessing you aren’t just here to say hi.”

John mentally kicked himself for a moment. Hell, he was normally much smoother than this. High powered deals and important people were run of the mill for him. But something about Belmont Sr. made him want to seek a bomb shelter.

“Geralt requires food, and if he’s hungry then Eskel will be hungry, too.”

Immediately, John grabbed his phone and tapped out a message to the chef. It had been several hours since their last meal, so he’d been expecting a message for more food at any time. Though it was really odd that Geralt hadn’t just texted John himself. 

For a minute he worried like hell. Eskel and Trevor had been _trashed_. God, but John hoped they were all alright.

“Can I, um, have anything made for you?” he asked, somewhat hesitant. He hadn’t seen Belmont Sr. eat once yet. The mere idea of him doing something so mundane as consuming food was a little ridiculous. He had to eat sometime, though, didn’t he? It wasn’t possible for a man, any man, to live on spite and creepiness alone.

“I’m quite satisfied.”

While Belmont Sr. did look quite pleased, the expression made John shiver.

“Right,” John squeaked. “That’s great.” He motioned towards his phone. “Food should be ready shortly. Matt will bring it up. Is, uh…” He rubbed his fingers together nervously. “Would Trevor like me to join you all? I have the latest figures ready for him.”

“He’s showering now, but yes, I expect he’ll be interested in getting an update from you soon.”

If Trevor was in the shower now, that meant John had at least a half hour before he needed to be up there. John finished typing in a few things on his phone, getting all the relevant information ready. Then he looked over to Belmont Sr., who was watching him with the same lazy interest that a particularly sleepy and well-fed lion had for nearby wandering antelope. 

Something came over John in that moment. A burning curiosity mixed with his lowkey anxiety that had built up through the last week.

“Why do you drug your son?” John asked plainly. It was probably stupid as hell. Belmont Sr. was a dangerous man. Anyone could see that. But it was also clear that he cared for Trevor a great deal, in his own creepy way.

Belmont Sr.’s eyebrows went up; his gaze was so heavy on John that it was almost physical weight.

“Do not worry, I only wish for the best for my son.”

That wasn’t anywhere close to a satisfying answer, and likely Belmont Sr. knew it. Maybe John should just be pleased that he hadn’t gotten on some freaky hit list. Well. Maybe he _had_.

Probably not. Probably.

John tightened his jaw and tried not to sigh. 

_In for a penny, in for a pound_, he thought.

He took a breath and tried to put on his most calm and professional manner. “I’ll hold you to that. Should he require...aid that you cannot supply, please bring it to my or Matt’s attention and we will do what is needed.”

Hopefully this wouldn’t get him killed. But it needed to be said. Belmont Sr. needed to know that his son had other avenues of support. _Legal_ ones. And a whole staff unconnected with Belmont Sr.’s crazy crime syndicate or cult or whatever the hell else the man had going.

John tried not to remember that Trevor had this support available for a while now and never even seemed willing to take advantage of it at all.

A small smirk curled across Belmont Sr.’s face, though the surprised eyebrows hadn’t lowered at all. 

“It’s cute you think you can hold me to anything.” Belmont Sr. shrugged. “I don’t care about much, but my son is one of the few things I do care for.”

John swallowed and nodded, his very limited reserves of courage already dwindling. Every time he was in a room with Belmont Sr. he felt like he was taking an exam he hadn’t studied for. 

“Is there anything else I can help you with?” 

“I’ll let you know,” Belmont Sr. said, standing up. He took himself out of the office without another sound. Literally. The man moved like a damn ghost. There wasn’t even a clicking sound from the door as it shut behind him.

A deathly cold shiver raced down John’s back as he sat there staring at the shut door. After several long moments he grabbed his phone and sent a text to the chef letting her know to get the food ready. Then he sent one to Matt.

_Creepy Guy showed up and said they’re ready for food. You and I are headed up._

After about fifteen seconds he got a text back.

_Roger. I’ll meet you by the elevators._

John took another deep breath. It was probably irrational, given how mind-bogglingly dangerous Eskel was, but John felt much, much better having Matt up there with him. He was nearly certain that nothing bad would happen. Had happened? But he was honest enough with himself to know that Gabriel Belmont scared the crap out of him. That feeling was only made worse by the fact that Trevor, Geralt, and Eskel all didn’t seem to even notice the menace that he exuded. 

Or maybe they were just inured to it. 

Seeing Trevor and Eskel so very drugged was incredibly worrying. The implication that Belmont Sr. was adding those drugs to Trevor’s food was even more so. Seldom did John ever feel like he was truly out of his depth, but this week had definitely made the list.

Also, oh god, he was going to have to go look at his boss and try not to think about how Trevor had been sprawled all over Eskel like a calendar pinup model. Just remembering it made John’s face burn with second hand embarrassment. 

Bizarrely, though, it was really nice to see Trevor so happy. Laughing and smiling. Relaxed and playful. John was completely weirded out by it but...he had to admit that he wished Trevor could be that happy a little more often. 

Still.

_A damned pinup!_

He blinked and rubbed his face. He was just gonna go in and act normal. If Trevor wanted to say something about it, that was fine, but John really had no place talking about his personal life. With any luck, everything would go back to business as usual. 

At least where clothes and sobriety were concerned. Maybe if John found out what Trevor really liked to eat, he could arrange to have it made. That way Trevor wouldn’t have to resort to whatever Belmont Sr. got for him.

An incredibly worrying thought came to mind. What if it wasn’t what Trevor was eating, it was only that Belmont Sr. _ordered_ him to eat it?

Just for a moment, John laid his face on his desk. 

He took a slow breath and reminded himself not to worry about that which he could not control. As awful as it was to think of his kind hearted boss at the mercy of his terrifying father, the best John could do was try and give Trevor alternatives. 

John sat up and straightened his jacket. It was his job to make Trevor’s life a little easier. He could do this. Him and Matt both. 

\---

Eskel stared across the arching spires of the multilevel city and brooded. Directly across there was a large bay; its still, dark waters reflected the enormous moon that lit up the night sky.

He wanted to meditate. It would help, he knew it would. Just having the quiet down time to set his body’s energies back in order would be invaluable. It would also help him properly catalogue what was going on with him physically. There were changes. Differences. He felt, maybe not _wrong_, but not right.

The still-churning anger and hurt inside of him wouldn’t allow it though. Eskel wanted to scream and throw things. He wanted to go out and hunt something down just to savor the utter focus that walking the Path gave him. But he was stuck here.

A tiny voice in the back of his head reminded him that Alucard’s tower wasn’t a bad place to be, and Geralt had needed the support. Still needed it, Eskel was sure. Dracula seemed about a million times calmer than he had a week ago, but that only meant he was momentarily distracted from his rage. And Alucard…

Well. Alucard was another matter entirely. 

Anger and hurt and rejection all piled up inside of Eskel. So much so that he knew he wasn’t really acting rationally. It was better to stay away from people until he could calm down a little. If he could calm down at all. 

He dug his hands into the railing around the roof of the tower and leaned in. The wet, sour smell of the city rose up on the breeze. For all its wonders, Castlevania City was filthier than most places Eskel had been. Strange chemicals mixed in with the scent of a million people all crammed into tight living conditions. Burning awfulness marinated with sewage and rot, all layered under the dry scent of brick and steel.

What a strange place that Alucard called home. 

_Home_, Eskel snarled to himself. If things went badly, this would be his home, too. He tried to remember that Alucard promised him his freedom, but it was hard to see through how pissed off he was. 

“I think you look cute when you are this grumpy.” Dracula’s voice rumbled from directly behind him, so close that Eskel could feel the breath fanned over his neck. Was the vampire _sniffing_ him?

“Well at least I’m good for something,” Eskel growled out. It wasn’t as much of a growl as it should have been, though. His voice was healing a little, he realized. The scar across his neck had faded a little along with all the other signs of damage. He’d taken a good long look in the mirror earlier. He was still scarred, but it wasn’t as bad. Like he’d crammed a couple years of healing into one night. 

Perversely, this only pissed him off more. He was a hacked up ruin, but those scars were _his_. Just one more thing that had changed without warning. 

Again the little voice of sanity in his head reminded him that he damn well knew that if he drank enough of Dracula's power, he’d end up as healed as Geralt was one day. Perhaps this had sped up that process a little more than expected, but he was hardly uninformed. 

Eskel shoved that little voice into a box and piled his fury on top of it. Couldn’t he even have a proper rage for a while before he had to start thinking about sense and logic? 

He dug his hands a little farther into the railing. Something about that felt off, but his mind was too full of hurt and upset for him to pay any attention to it.

“I can think of a few more things you could be good for,” Dracula purred, dragging the tip of his claw over the back of Eskel’s neck.

“Ruining your son, for example,” Eskel snapped, violently twitching away from the touch. “I’m doing a damn good job of that.”

“You barely even started on him.” Dracula waved his concerns away with an irritatingly flappy hand.

Eskel wanted to tear his own eyes out with frustration. All that actually came out was a guttural snarl. He clenched his teeth down hard, keeping it locked in.

“Hmm.” Dracula walked around him as if Eskel was an interesting art exhibit. “The growl used to be more effective, too.”

A twisted laugh tore itself out of Eskel’s throat, and he nodded. His eyes burned for a moment. “I know. I’ll have to find other ways to scare the shit out of people. Although Alucard’s humans seem pretty soft. I bet it wouldn’t even matter if I had my own voice. But I can’t do anything truly scary here, it would break his cover. Not that _that_ fucking matters, since everyone here seems to think I’m a glorified fucking lapdog anyways. And the best part is, _they are fucking right_.” 

Eskel waved his hand dismissively, as if he could brush aside the whole damn situation with that one gesture. Gods, he knew he sounded bitter as fuck, but he was just too fucking pissed to even see straight. 

“This is why I came up here,” he snarled quietly to himself. “Because no one needs to hear this shit. It wouldn’t help anyone.”

“Oh,” Dracula said, sounding surprised. “Those are _nice_.” He sounded almost gleeful suddenly.

“What?” Eskel finally turned to look at him, now angry _and_ confused.

Dracula wasn’t looking at him, or rather not at his face. He was looking down at…Eskel’s hands.

“Really nice,” Dracula repeated. He grabbed ahold of Eskel’s left hand and tugging it forward with the kind of grip Eskel knew he wouldn't be able to break easily. “Let me look closer.”

“Huh?” Now Eskel had to stop to look, too. 

His hands had claws. Long, wickedly sharp, black claws that grew out of the ends of his fingers, like his regular nails had mutated into gryphon talons. 

Dracula pinched the end of one claw and _tugged_.

Eskel yelped.

Dracula promptly tugged again, the smile on his face gaining in size.

Another little yelp tore out of Eskel’s throat, this time a little higher pitched. 

“Hey! Stop that.” He pulled a little at his hand, but he knew damn well that Dracula wasn’t going to let go. 

For fuck’s sake, he had _claws_. Eskel stared at them for a moment, aghast. 

He tried flexing his hand. It felt normal. Normal enough that he didn’t even notice a difference. A quick look at the railing showed that he’d accidentally carved deep grooves into the steel bars there, all without ever noticing. 

Eskel closed his eyes for a second and took a breath.

“So cute.” Dracula had the gall to test the sharpness of the tip with his finger, smiling besottedly when the claw pricked through his skin and pulled out a bead of blood.

If his hands had grown claws, what else had changed too? Eskel ran his tongue over his teeth. Still normal. That was a relief.

“Can you hide them?” Dracula wondered, shifting Eskel’s hand this way and that before pushing at the tip again.

“How would I even do that?” Eskel asked, still frowning in dismay.

“Hmm.” 

There was more pushing; it made Eskel’s fingers tingle. His claws tingle. Fuck. Something was tingling at least. He growled again. 

The growl was cut off suddenly when the claws sank into his body, leaving behind smooth and human looking skin.

“...Are they gone for good? Can I bring them back?” Eskel flexed his fingers again. Still felt normal. 

“I don’t see why not. They popped out now, didn’t they?”

Curious, Eskel tried to focus on his hands. He pictured in his mind’s eye the claws growing out of them, and _pushed_. 

Nothing. 

He sighed, and rubbed his eyes. “Why does nothing ever go my fucking way,” he grumbled. Then he looked up to Dracula and glared. “Let me guess, you just magically know how to use all your powers, like you know how to breathe. And since I have never once seen Alucard with claws, this is something he doesn’t do at all?”

Dracula finally looked up from admiring Eskel’s hands and blinked.

“Of course.”

Gods, but Eskel wanted to scream. 

“I kind of want to strangle your son right now,” he said in a clipped voice. “Maybe throw him in a well.” That sentiment quickly drained out of him, though, and his shoulders slumped. “Fuck.”

“You don’t like them?”

That made Eskel stop and think. Strangely, the question made his brain kick in enough that his rage died down a little. He looked at his hands. 

“I think I do like them, but I’m really fucking frustrated that this is just another thing I can’t control. And yet another thing that Alucard won’t be helpful on. Not that---” He winced and looked up at the night sky. “Not that he isn’t trying to help. I know he thinks he’s doing the right thing. But _for fuck’s sake_ he could fucking include me in the decision process.” 

In that moment, Eskel felt a thousand years old. Even his bones felt tired. He looked at Dracula and shook his head, shrugging. 

“Do you think it would matter?” Dracula asked, tilting his head with curiosity. “Alucard is both stubborn and determined to do no harm to humans, even at his great expense. If he’s convinced that this will be bad for you, no amount of explaining things to you will change that.”

“Earlier when we were both stoned out of our minds, that bond was wide open and neither of our heads exploded,” Eskel spat out. “I’m not saying I want that level of connection with him all the time, I really don’t. But I do need to know if that’s the default when he’s not fucking blocking me out. What happens if he gets hurt and can’t control the bond for a moment? What happens if I get hurt? Will he feel it? Would he even want to? I’d really fucking like to know what I can expect here.”

He wanted to pull away to pace, but Dracula still held his hand. As much as he wanted to go back to clawing into the railing again, Eskel wanted that little bit of contact more. A tiny, ridiculous fear fluttered through him that whispered if he pulled away from Dracula there would be no one left. Then he’d be alone again.

The rage practically vibrated inside of him. “There was never any fucking choice, was there. From the damn moment we all met, this was where it was going.”

“You could have walked away at any time,” Dracula said dismissively.

Eskel glared at him. “Not in the dungeon. Not every time after when you chased me down. Not when Alucard breathed power into me, and not just now when he shut me the fuck out.” At this point Eskel was almost shouting he was so furious. His throat ached like he’d swallowed nails and his eyes had gone back to burning. “Give in or die, accept it or be held still, choose _when_ it happens but not _if_ it happens.”

“You like it. You’re a happier person when you are with us.”

“That’s the worst fucking part!” Now Eskel pulled away, and amazingly Dracula let him go. “I want it to be _me_ that gives you two what you want. Every time you just take it from me I feel like less of a person.” A harsh, cruel laugh ripped out of his lungs and he took a couple of steps back. “Person. I’m not a _person_. I’m a fucking pet. A beloved, well petted, beast. And to my endless fucking shame, I like the damn attention. I’m never happier than when I’m being held by you or your fucking son. Gods, but I would walk through fire to keep that.”

Tears like hot oil burned down his cheeks and Eskel’s voice cracked. The city around him, the breeze, and the thousand little signs of life around him faded out, lost under his upset. All he could see was Dracula and the space between them. But Dracula’s expression didn’t change at all. He stood still as a statue, watching with dispassionate eyes as Eskel had a total meltdown. 

“I thought it would be you,” Eskel said, finally regaining his voice. “I thought you would be the one. After you’d owned every last little part of me, you’d be satisfied in your triumph and forget what I needed from you. But it looks like Alucard beat you to the punch. Now he gets to toss me aside, and the worst fucking part of that is he’s hurting _himself_, too!”

He couldn’t stand how Dracula looked at him. Cold. Calculating. Like he was simply biding his time. 

Eskel sagged in place and then finally dropped down to his knees. He wanted to bury his head into the stone and brick under him. He wanted to just sit and scream. But still he couldn’t stop the bitter flow of words.

“I am a pathetic piece of shit because I need you both like I need air. Exactly what I was worried about finally damn happened. I’m bound up in things I never asked for. Marks, deals, and bonds. And now that I’m to the point where I can’t picture my life without him, he’s gonna take it away. He had to wait for me to need him before he shut me out. To top it all off I can’t even fucking control my own damn body.” 

He took huge shuddering breath, and watched through blurry eyes as the roof under him grew wet with tears. It had been years since he’d cried this much, he was sure. Dandelion had once told him that tears were first aid for the soul; they helped a person heal. All Eskel felt was more misery.

“Are you done?” Dracula asked, calm as could be. 

Another awful, unhappy laugh forced its way out of Eskel’s throat. He closed his eyes and nodded. “It seems fucking so.”

Before he could blink, before he could even breathe, Dracula was on him, pressing him back onto the rooftop. With one hand, he’d captured both of Eskel’s wrists and forced them up above his head, and with the other he forced Eskel’s head to the side. Then there were teeth at Eskel’s throat. Strong, _blunt_ teeth, digging into his neck hard enough that he could feel the bruise forming. 

Dracula held the bite for three long heartbeats and then pulled back to breathe over that now sensitive flesh.

“You are _mine_,” he rumbled softly. “I will not discard you. I will not forget how you should be treated. You are not a pet. You are my Eskel. My witcher. Mine.”

A wracking shudder raced through Eskel’s body and his chest heaved with his panting breath. He couldn’t move, not even a single inch. Dracula covered him completely, pressing him down into the cold stone and holding him still with effortless strength. 

Dracula’s words soothed some of the awful hurt inside of him, and everywhere their skin touched tingled. It wasn’t the right touch, not quite, and distantly Eskel realized that only Alucard would make that craving totally go away. But Dracula’s touch was still good. It was still enough to release some of the bitter unhappiness inside of him. 

“You worry too much,” Dracula whispered into his neck. “Things will work out. Alucard doesn't want to lose you; he was the one to find you, after all.” Dracula gave Eskel’s neck three more blunt bites. “Besides, what was this about you not being able to control your body?” Dracula chuckled. “You were spitting mad---” The tugging sensation came back. Dracula was playing with Eskel’s claws again. “---and here they are again!” He sounded very amused. 

The pushing sensation on his fingers came again and when Eskel closed his fists he could only feel blunt, human nails. Dracula had pushed Eskel’s claws back into his fingers.

Tears sprang up anew in Eskel’s eyes and he shivered in Dracula’s grip. Having burned through his rage, all that was left was the unhappiness and exhaustion. The stone under him was bone-numbingly cold and Eskel suddenly realized he was outside in winter with just a thin shirt and pants. He hadn’t even noticed the cold until this moment. But Dracula’s body radiated heat, and Eskel found himself relaxing into it despite himself. He closed his eyes as the familiar scent enveloped him and tried to be as still as possible, letting his burning hot tears fall unheeded. 

As awful as he felt, it was very, very nice that he wasn’t alone. Dracula was there, covering him, holding him. Eskel tilted his head towards Dracula’s, trying to rub into him a little. He could feel the press of that powerful chest against his own, making breathing difficult. Sometimes it seemed that Dracula thought suffocating Eskel was the way to solve all his troubles. Oddly enough, he was bothered by the fact that Dracula’s chest was covered in the fine, black fabric instead of bare and hot against him.

“You’re going to tell everyone I have cute claws, aren’t you,” Eskel said miserably. Sheer emotion made his voice as rough as it used to be, and it felt like he had to push every word past a rock in his throat.

“Of course!” Dracula answered immediately. He slumped even harder against Eskel, making him wheeze. “They really are very cute. Curved like a kitten’s.”

Eskel wanted to rub his eyes in exasperation but the best he could do at the moment was squeeze them shut. He sniffed hard and then pulled a little at the grip Dracula had on his hands. It wasn’t much of an effort; only just enough to see if Dracula would let go.

Of course he didn’t.

Dracula just ran his nose over Eskel’s neck again, breathing across the skin there like he was testing the bouquet of a fine wine. 

“Do you really want me to move, or do you just want to know if you can?” Dracula asked, voice low and mildly amused. “Because you can’t.”

Anger surged up again and Eskel struggled up against Dracula’s grip. It was pointless, useless, and he knew it. He thrashed and tried kicking but Dracula only shifted and forced his way between Eskel’s legs, seemingly unaware of any kicks that Eskel landed. The surge of energy faded fast and Eskel sagged, a little dizzy from the lack of air because gods knew how many pounds of flesh were merrily resting on top of his chest. Dracula was also cooing, soft and pleased.

Eskel’s claws were out again. 

“You are an absolute bastard,” Eskel said in a low, wheezing snarl.

“Certified even,” Dracula confirmed. “I think there are still records proving that.”

It was hard as hell to take even half breaths. For a moment all Eskel could do was focus on getting air into his lungs. He flexed his claws, kneading the air. It was really the only movement he could make. With the way Dracula held his wrists, even they couldn’t get purchase on anything. 

Finally, his breathing slowed and he lay limp in Dracula’s hold again.

“And you needed to vent,” Dracula added unexpectedly, finally tearing his eyes away from the claws and looking at Eskel’s face.

Eskel frowned a little at him and wrinkled his brow in confusion. “Did you on purpose try to piss me off just so I would have something to fight?”

“...I do like the claws?” Dracula said tentatively. “And you of course,” he added after a moment. Then he shrugged. “Obliterating a few things always helped my mood.”

A strangled little laugh burst out of Eskel. Then the laughter grew, until he was nearly crying again. It didn’t last long, but it felt like more of a release of tension than anything else had. He had to take a moment to just breathe again, but that wasn’t so bad.

“I am glad you like the claws,” Eskel said, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. “If I can figure out how to use them on command, I’ll probably like them, too. It’s almost a pity about the scars. You and Alucard seemed to like them.”

He had to wonder for a moment what he would even look like without the ragged marks that scored the side of his face and twisted his lips into a resting snarl. They weren’t gone yet, not even close, but maybe one day soon they would be. 

It was funny and bizarrely sweet that Dracula had tried to give Eskel the outlet he himself prefered. A vent for all the rage. Though Eskel’s fury only included a little shouting and some flailing, and Dracula’s last temper tantrum had burnt a sizable hole in a country. 

“You’re really not afraid I could hurt you, are you?” Eskel asked, looking up at the exposed neck above him. He could bite there and rip out Dracula’s carotid artery. It was something he’d already been forced to do once, years ago. During a fight with a group of soldiers who got the drop on him; they’d managed to tie his hands before he regained consciousness. Ripping out a throat turned out to be a great way to start a conversation.

“Sometimes,” Dracula rumbled low and quiet, “I really wish you could.”

The way he said those words, the almost wistful quality they had, made Eskel’s heart hurt. There wasn’t anything he could do about that particular situation, though, and he knew it. That helplessness hurt as much as anything else did. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” Eskel said quietly. “As much as you drive me fucking crazy, my life is better for you being in it.” It wasn’t much of an offering, he knew. But it was the best he had at the moment. 

“I like this new life I have now,” Dracula admitted. “And you are a big part of it.”

A small warmth settled in Eskel’s heart. 

“I listened to you, you know,” Eskel whispered, thinking about how Dracula’s words had brought him out of the near death that Alucard’s breath has forced him into. 

This probably wasn’t something that should be said. It felt too private. But, gods, he still felt so terrible. His temples were wet from where all the tears had dripped down and soaked in. He felt raw and scooped out inside. Hurt and changed. There was an aching lump inside of him, hard and rough, where his sense of Alucard should be. 

At the time, he hadn’t followed Dracula’s command because of some expectation of reward later. Eskel had just tried to stay awake and breathe because Dracula asked it of him. It was as simple as that. But right this moment he felt so damn bad that he was vaguely hoping Dracula would be happy about it and say something nice. Dracula always seemed to like it when Eskel listened to him and if there was ever a time where he wanted a little extra comfort and affection, it was now.

A small part of him also thought it might be worth it for Eskel to let Dracula know just how much he affected him. It was another warning, a caution to be careful.

“What do you mean?” Dracula stilled above him.

“You told me to breathe. To stay.” He held his eyes open wide and stared up into the strangely starless night sky in an attempt to stop himself from tearing up again. It didn’t help at all, and a couple of hot, wet drops snaked down his face. “I made my lungs work and my heart beat because I wanted to do what you asked of me more than I wanted the pleasure of being still.” The words were spoken as plainly as Eskel could manage. For him, it was just a matter of fact.

A low growl ripped out of Dracula’s throat, almost like a deep purr, hungry and pleased at once. In a heartbeat, Dracula’s teeth were in Eskel’s throat again biting down, not hard enough to break skin, but impossible to ignore. Dracula bit down and sucked until the flesh tingled and then he moved down to repeat the process, making Eskel squirm under him, unsure of how to feel about the sensation. He was being marked, he knew, visibly and possessively. For everyone to see.

Shadows spilled out around them. Eskel could feel himself being wrapped up in Dracula’s power; the scent of it filled his nose and blocked out everything else.

Dracula shifted his mouth further down Eskel’s neck to bite down right on the muscle connecting his neck to his shoulder, purring up a storm as he sucked another huge bruise into Eskel’s skin. He snaked his free hand down the front of Eskel’s shirt, forcing the buttons open. Then he slid his hand under Eskel’s back and lifted, making Eskel’s chest arch up. _Presenting it._

Dracula released the bite and looked at Eskel’s chest; his eyes were glowing and his lips parted. He was radiating hunger, and his low growl vibrating right through Eskel’s soul.

“Wha--what are you doing?” Eskel asked, his voice quiet and breathy. His face burned with blushing and his stomach fluttered. He squirmed a little in Dracula’s grip, but he was still held fast.

“You have been very good,” Dracula rasped, lowering his head to Eskel’s chest and biting with blunt teeth at the exposed area. He sucked at the captured skin, awakening the shivers again. 

“You deserve a reward,” Dracula murmured. The words came out muffled with how his teeth still had a firm hold on Eskel’s body. Then he let go of the captured flesh and moved to bite again, this time lower on Eskel’s pectoral. His teeth pressed at the firm muscle and sucked hard at the curve of it. The sensation felt better than it had any right to, and Eskel squirmed again.

The heat in Eskel’s face intensified and spread. It was really hard to think; the tangle of emotions inside of him was too complicated to sort out. Words didn’t seem to want to work under the distraction of Dracula’s mouth and approval. The best he could do was let out a soft, questioning whine in between hard breaths.

Dracula merely shifted above him, pressing their bodies closer together and pulling the shirt even more open. Eskel could hear a button ripping off and skittering over the cold rooftop. 

Dracula let go of the flesh he was mauling to whisper in his raspy voice, “You obey me so beautifully.” 

Then he was pushing Eskel’s chest even higher, exposing him more. He bit down again, carefully taking a huge chunk of Eskel’s pec into his mouth, including Eskel’s right nipple. He sucked, _hard_, and Eskel jerked at the unexpected pleasure. The sensation shot down to his belly, ramping up the confused heat there.

“Stop, stop,” Eskel begged, trying to squirm out from under Dracula. But between the hold Dracula had on Eskel’s wrists, pressing them down to the cold floor, and the arm pulling Eskel’s chest up, Eskel could barely move at all.

Dracula eased up, releasing his mouthful. He breathed over the spit soaked skin which sent another wave of shivers through Eskel. All Eskel could do for a moment was breathe and try to release his muscles from the tight cord they’d been clenched into. He reminded himself that Dracula had stopped when Eskel asked. 

“So good, and so pretty,” Dracula purred softly. “I want to make you feel good.”

“You do already,” Eskel said plaintively. He worked to relax further, but the position was awkward and he couldn’t quite stop blushing. 

Gods, but that sounded pathetic. The burning in his cheeks was pure embarrassment now and Eskel couldn’t look Dracula in the face.

“I was thinking more along the lines of screams of pleasure.” There was a hint of amusement in Dracula’s voice.

Eskel hit his head on the rooftop. Of course. Of course Dracula thought sex was a great reward. Really, Geralt couldn’t find a better suited partner if he _tried_.

“Does your mind ever leave the gutter?” Eskel asked, staring at the dark sky above him, He still felt too unsteady to look Dracula in the eye.

“I find pleasure to be a more worthy pursuit than any other,” Dracula answered, letting Eskel’s chest down and easing the pressure on his spine. The night air felt freezing over the spit slick skin of his chest, where Dracula’s attentions left the shirt flapping open.

Somehow, Dracula’s answer didn’t surprise Eskel at all. He nodded, then shivered hard at the cold.

Before he could complain about it, Dracula pressed down into him, covering him up. 

“But if this is all you’ll accept for the moment, so be it.” Dracula spoke right into Eskel’s ear, soft and low. “You did very well. You deserve pleasure and touch. I am very pleased.” 

Dracula didn't bother to hold up his weight, squishing Eskel again. It felt warm and good but also made breathing kind of an uncertain thing.

“Very pleased,” Dracula added with that satisfied purr in his voice. “You never fail to exceed my expectations.”

Eskel’s eyes fluttered closed and he arched up into Dracula’s body, trying to press closer, wanting that dark presence to fill his senses and blot out everything else. He rubbed his nose into Dracula’s hair and breathed in.

It was a struggle to feel anything beyond his upset, but he did try. Anxiety still ate at him, turning every little thing into sometime worth panicking over. But Dracula was solid and steady above him and his breath was warm in Eskel’s ear.

“I’ve had a rough week,” Eskel said quietly.

“I know,” Dracula murmured. “You’ve handled it very well. We all would be in far worse shape without you here.”

For the first time since he’d left the lower floors, Eskel felt a little less like shit. But with his emotional misery on hold, his body started to complain. The roof of this building was _really fucking cold_ and much of that was soaking right into his back straight out of the building.

“Let me up.” Eskel tugged at his hands again. As warm as Dracula was on top of him, Eskel was fairly done with being crushed into the freezing rooftop.

Dracula didn’t answer, but the corner of his lips stretched into a wicked smirk. 

Eskel barely had the time to think ‘oh shit’ before Dracula’s form burst into a million fucking bats, all screeching and swarming. Their leathery wings brushed against his face and arms in a million hairy touches that drove him crazy. He let out a strangled screech at the sensation of tiny fangs and claws grabbing hold of everything they could, clothes, skin, and hair, and pulling him into upright position. 

The moment his feet touched the ground all the bats burst into shadows. The sudden cessation of noise made him reel.

“I hate bats!” Eskel screamed into the darkness. 

It took a bit before Dracula reformed his body out of the darkness. His black clothes made him merge with the shadows on the roof more than he might otherwise.

“But they are so cute!” Dracula protested, raising his hand to show Eskel one of the small beasties snuggled to Dracula’s fingers. It looked tiny and innocent until it yawned; its tiny maw was packed full of wickedly sharp white teeth.

Eskel hunched his shoulders a little and hummed. The fuzzy little black critter was kind of cute. Sort of. He didn’t really want to admit that, though. Especially when it might encourage Dracula to take him for more unexpected rides. 

Dracula petted the tiny creature once before he flicked his hand. The bat dissolved into shadows in an instant.

When Eskel moved to straighten his clothes out, he paused to look at his hands. The claws had come out again. Now that he had the chance he wanted to give them a good once over. The strangest part was how they didn’t feel unwieldy at all. He always wondered how Alucard could tolerate the claws on his gauntlets, but now that he had his own set of talons, they didn’t seem awkward at all. 

He flexed his hands again, watching how the claws curled with his fingers. 

_I wonder…_

Eskel cast a furtive glance towards the steel railing again and flexed his hands. Maybe Alucard wouldn’t mind if he clawed up the metal a little. It’s not like anyone would come up here to see it. And he really wanted to know just how much damage he could do with them. 

It took a ridiculous amount of will, but Eskel stopped himself from going over to test his new weapons out. It took even more to tear his eyes away from his potential target. He tried to remind himself that Alucard wouldn’t want his stuff ruined, even if it was only the roof.

“Maybe I can find a tree somewhere,” he muttered to himself, still flexing his claws. Finally, he turned to look at Dracula, who was watching him with blatant amusement. “You don’t happen to have any advice on making them come in and out do you?”

Dracula obediently lifted his hand, palm out.

“Claws out when needed.” And yes, his fingertips were graced with the short, sharp black claws. “Gone when not needed.” The claws melted into nothing, leaving only blunt human fingers.

Draucla at least had the decency to look sheepish. “It’s always been instinct for me.”

Eskel sighed. “As soon as I figure it out I’m gonna write a damn manual to give to Alucard,” he grumbled. He gave his hands one last flex and then held them up to Dracula. “Would you help me put them away for now?”

Stepping close, Dracula took hold of Eskel’s hands. That small, delighted smile was back on his face as he looked them over. Then he gave one a little tug.

“Hey!” Eskel yelped. He instinctively flinched away, trying to pull back his hands, but Dracula held on tight. 

The smile on Dracula’s face grew. Gently, he pushed at the claw that he pulled. That tingling was back and the claw melted right into Eskel’s skin. Then Dracula tugged on the next one, working another small, high sound out of Eskel. The smile on Dracula’s face grew again.

Eskel realized that Dracula was going to play with every single claw before he pushed them back in. He groaned and hung his head.

For every single damn claw, the tug made him flinch and squeak. It was the most undignified thing he’d ever done. Considering all the stupid shit he’d gotten involved with over his life, that was really saying something. By the end of it, Dracula was grinning like mad and Eskel’s face was hot with embarrassment. 

“Well these will be fun,” Eskel grumbled. He knew deep in his bones that the damn things would find a way to come out at the least convenient time for him possible. His life was just like that. 

“Agreed,” Dracula said, still grinning. With the pad of his forefinger, he delicately traced up and down the fingers of Eskel’s hand. The delicate touch sent a shiver up Eskel’s spine. 

Or maybe it was the arctic breeze coming in from the bay. It was hard to tell. 

Dracula’s eyes flickered to Eskel’s body, probably noticing the shiver. “You could come inside. Get warm and tend to Geralt.”

“I’m pretty sure seeing me is the last fucking thing Alucard wants,” Eskel said, feeling particularly pissy. “And I can’t say that I’m feeling great about it either.”

“Nonsense. It will do you both good.” Dracula’s eyes narrowed. “Besides. You left all your weapons in the bedroom.”

Holy shit.

Eskel glanced down at his body, suddenly realizing that Dracula was right. He hadn’t even noticed. What was even more bizarre was he couldn’t even find it in himself to be anxious about it. Not even a little.

He furrowed his brow and tried to figure out why the fuck that was. This whole damn week he’d been basically armed up like he was waiting for guerilla fighters to portal in and drop down from the ceiling. The hospital was bad, both because of all the strangers around and because of how poorly defensible the building was. Even in Alucard’s tower, Eskel could still feel all the demonic energy in the city, uncontrolled and wild. This place was dangerous and his gut knew it. 

But now he felt as at ease as he did at Kaer Morhen. Which was really fucking weird. When he tried to place why that was, the answer finally struck him.

This was Alucard’s tower. The whole place thrummed with his power and now Eskel could feel it. It hummed along his skin like distant lightning. When he looked at the stone of the rooftop he realized that if he focused, he could actually _see_ the power there. This place was protected. Eskel’s cynical mind knew very well that any protection could be breached, but just feeling Alucard’s wards around him had set him at ease. 

“I still need to give you your swords back,” Dracula said, making Eskel’s attention snap back to him instantly. 

“Do I need them?” he asked, suddenly a little worried. 

“Not particularly. But given your unarmed state I thought you might want them.” Dracula smiled slyly at him. “I cannot retrieve them here, of course. It is far too exposed on this rooftop. Someone might see me.”

Eskel blinked hard at him. “...Says the man who just turned into a swarm of bats.”

“A completely different matter.” Dracula waved a hand dismissively. Then he raised his eyebrows expectantly at Eskel.

“I have to go back to the bedroom and deal with Alucard to get my swords back.” Eskel’s voice was as flat as he could make it. 

Dracula smiled at him, looking smug as hell.

It was so very tempted to say no, if only out of spite. But Eskel had missed his swords like crazy, and simply putting off seeing Alucard for a few more hours wasn’t a good enough reason to pass up the opportunity to get them back. 

He thought about it, though. Imagined the look on Geralt and Alucard’s face when Dracula told them that even Eskel’s swords wouldn’t lure him back in. They’d be shocked and dismayed, and while the worst of Eskel’s rage had passed, he was still feeling petty enough that he got a little satisfaction from imagining their worry. 

Only a little though. He didn’t truly want to worry them. He just wanted to avoid the painful distance and awkwardness that was bound to come from being in the same room with Alucard.

Eskel did really want his swords back.

“I come back inside and I get my swords?” he asked. “Right away? Not a week from now or a moon from now when you finally remember that you still have them?”

“Of course,” Dracula said, his eyes wide with fake innocence. 

Eskel sighed, closed his eyes, and let his shoulders droop. “Fine. Might as well get this over with.”

“Excellent.”

Aching dread pooled up inside of him. He ignored it and made his way back inside, with Dracula following up behind him. 

\---

To say that Eskel felt awkward when Dracula opened the door to Alucard’s bedroom was the understatement of the century. He had his eyes fixed firmly on Dracula’s back, very carefully not watching anything else in the room.

He didn’t really need to look around to notice that John, Matt, and Iga were already there, each of them seated around the general vicinity of the bed. Iga was sprawled languidly in her chair, wearing some kind of purple dress. She started to rise as soon as they walked in, but Dracula waved her off. Matt sat in Eskel’s usual spot, the place between the bed and the door. John had a pile of papers and devices spread out over a table.

Alucard was standing at one of the windows, looking out. 

That particular view Eskel avoided the most. He didn’t want to look. He tried not to. It didn’t matter a single bit, though; he could _feel_ Alucard over there. 

“Welcome ba---oh for fuck’s sake!” Geralt said, exasperated. “Really? _More_?” He raised his hands in exasperation. “Didn’t you get it out of your system in the bathroom?”

Alucard’s head snapped away from the window and right to Eskel, his eyes flicking over him in concern, before stopping at his neck. 

Eskel didn’t bother to look at Geralt either, and he definitely didn’t look at Alucard. Not directly anyways. He just held up his middle finger towards the bed. “Jealous much?”

“Fucking _yes_!” Geralt sounded more than a little waspish. Then there was a quiet pause. “I mean. No. Not really. I’m just annoyed that I’m not having fun, too.”

Now Eskel looked over. Sure enough, Geralt did look pretty glum. 

John and Matt, however, looked like they both wanted to melt into the floor. He could practically smell the embarrassment. Since Eskel felt close to the same way, there wasn’t anything he could offer that might help. 

Luckily for him, irritation and frustration were a great way to derail that feeling, and Eskel had enough irritation to last for a year. 

Sadly, because he was doing his best to ignore Alucard with everything he could, he never noticed him _coming closer_.

“Eskel?” The word was hesitant and quiet, coming from Eskel’s side so unexpectedly that he almost jumped.

Alucard was watching him from barely a foot away, his strange eyes flicking from Eskel’s face down his body and back up again. “What happened?”

It was hard, so very hard, not to lean towards him. To just melt and grab hold and bury himself in Alucard’s scent. But he held back, tense as a bow string ready to snap. 

“I lost my temper,” he said gruffly, settling his gaze somewhere around Alucard’s chest. “It was stupid.”

“It was really cute!” Dracula chimed in from where he’d commandeered a leather armchair and had proceeded to sprawl in it.

Eskel sighed and rubbed his eyes. He really wanted to bitch about that, but it was sort of nice to be appreciated so he held his peace. “I’m fine,” he said, dropping his hand back to his side.

That was a big, fat, massive lie. Eskel was the opposite of fine. But he was _functional_, which was all that really mattered at the moment. He could stand here and cope, and then maybe after Geralt was all healed up he could go back to the Path and try to pull himself together.

Alucard made an aborted gesture, like he wanted to touch Eskel but thought better of it and pulled his hand away before it made contact. His fingers curled briefly into a fist before they relaxed against his side.

“You can if you want,” Eskel said quietly. A tiny shred of hope curled in his chest. “I don’t mind.”

_Mind._

As if he would ever mind Alucard touching him. Especially now, when every inch of his skin itched with the want of it. He didn’t dare look up at Alucard’s face, for fear of spooking him away.

It took a moment before Alucard raised his hand again. He was careful, too careful almost, as he reached to Eskel’s collar and pulled it away, probably exposing the line of fresh bites Dracula left on his neck. Eskel thought this might be it, just Alucard looking at him without touching, when he felt the cool fingertips just barely brush his skin before pulling away. Even that brief touch was electric. He couldn’t tell if it was because of the bond, or just because he was so hyper focused on it, but he felt his knees sag a little bit.

Alucard’s eyes followed the trail of vivid marks, narrowing slightly. Eskel nearly jumped when Alucard raised his other hand and started _unbuttoning_ Eskel’s shirt. 

He kept still, feeling the blush creep up his neck as Alucard exposed more of his chest and the marks Dracula had left there with such enthusiasm. 

Alucard seemed determined to find every single mark. He opened all the buttons down to the one that was ripped off and then proceeded to stretch the shirt apart, until Eskel’s whole upper chest was exposed. Eskel felt especially aware of the hickey and bite mark around his right nipple, the last mark Dracula left on his chest before he finally took mercy on Eskel.

Geralt let out a long, low whistle. “Damn.”

“Fuck you,” Eskel growled, burning with embarrassment.

Alucard held the shirt open and stared at the marks with unreadable eyes for a long, long moment. Long enough that Eskel could feel his skin start to prickle with goosebumps under the attention.

The urge to cover up was strong. It wasn’t that Eskel was ashamed. It was mostly that everyone was staring at him and he didn’t like it. But if Alucard wanted to see, he didn’t have any issue with that. Still, he knew damn well he must be bright red.

Alucard unfroze then, pulling the shirt back together and buttoning it tightly, all the way to the neck. He went so far as to button the collar which Eskel never bothered with before. When the last button was closed, Alucard smoothed his hands over the fabric, accidentally or maybe not, dragging them over most of the marks Dracula left on Eskel. It was barely hidden under the guise of making sure the shirt lay correctly. Eskel could feel the touch over the smooth cloth as if it burned right through his skin.

“...He didn’t break the skin,” Alucard murmured.

“Gotta play nice for company,” Eskel said. He glanced over to Dracula, who had a smug, satisfied smirk on his face. 

No doubt Dracula knew that if Eskel had gotten more fanged bites, he would have taken another Swallow potion to heal them immediately. As it was, what he’d taken already would heal those bruises far faster than they normally would. He’d probably be mark-free within an hour. “Though we should definitely erase the security footage from the roof.”

If anything, that only made John and Matt both turn a deeper shade of red. No doubt they thought what everyone usually thinks, which is that Dracula had gone up there to fuck him. But Geralt, Iga, and Alucard would be able to smell that wasn’t what happened. Since it was a convenient enough assumption and a good reason to get that security footage erased, Eskel didn’t dispute it. It was either that or explain how he’d grown claws and Dracula had used one of his other forms.

“You could always watch it instead,” Dracula said, turning his amused smile towards Alucard.

“No!” Eskel yelped, blushing. He did not want Alucard to see him yowling like a scared maiden when Dracula bat-lifted him or the sounds he made when Dracula pushed his claws in. It would be best if nobody _ever_ saw that.

“Whatever happened was private between you two,” Alucard said primly, though Eskel could detect a hint of curiosity in his voice. 

“Pity.” Gods, but Dracula sounded smug. If he didn’t know better he would swear Dracula got laid on that roof.

Eskel waited standing stock still and wondered if Alucard would reach out to touch him again. 

“How are you feeling?” Alucard asked quietly, leaning in a little closer. This close Eskel was all but enveloped in his scent, the spicy fresh scent of his shampoo, and the now familiar soap.

“I’ve been better,” Eskel said roughly. Then he risked a glance over Alucard’s body, flicking his eyes up and down to check for any signs of distress. “And you? Are you well?”

“Worried,” Alucard said unexpectedly.

It made sense though. Alucard was the type for it. Much like Eskel himself. 

He nodded. “Yes.” The word was quiet and resigned, both acknowledgement and understanding. “You needn’t be,” he said finally. 

“I don’t want to lose a friend over this.” Alucard’s eyes flicked to his and stopped there, boring into him.

Some of Eskel’s misery and bitterness had faded with Alucard’s touch, but still he felt unhappy and out of sorts. Too much had happened and nothing had really been resolved. 

He closed his eyes and sighed, suddenly exhausted. “What do you suggest we do.”

If he wasn’t going to get a choice in how all of this played out, at least he could ask about what he should expect. Now that much of his anger had burnt through, he found he just wanted to get things settled. One way or the other.

“I won’t risk opening the…connection,” Alucard said slowly, tightly. He was still standing close; he hadn’t moved away. “But it doesn’t mean anything else must change.” Alucard lowered his lids, his pale lashes sweeping his cheeks. “I care about you a great deal,” Alucard whispered.

The misery inside of him uncoiled a little further and he shifted a little closer to Alucard. They were only a hand’s length apart now. Far too close for polite company, he knew, but not nearly as close as Eskel really wanted to be. 

“You realize that I have changed already, right?” Eskel asked quietly. “Ignoring the situation will only come back to bite us. Probably mostly me, open connection or not.”

Alucard’s eyes narrowed.

“Changed?”

Eskel just hummed in agreement, and once again reminded himself not to lean in that last little bit. Faint echoes of Alucard’s power radiated out from him like heat from a stove. Maybe it was just the cold winter air, but Eskel felt cold in his bones. Wrapping up with Alucard under a blanket sounded incredible. Ideal even. 

He shoved the thought out of his mind. Wasn’t going to happen. Not right now anyways, what with Alucard’s humans around. Eskel still took a moment to imagine having Alucard sit on his lap through all of his business dealings for the rest of the night. It was a nice thought.

“Yup,” Eskel finally said, forcing himself to verbalize so that he wouldn’t get stuck in his own thoughts. “Seems logical that there’s more to come, too. Which...honestly I don’t think I mind. But it would be useful to be able to get some guidance.” He risked another glance to Alucard’s face. “That probably wouldn’t involve anything with the connection. That doesn’t seem to be a factor. We could talk about it?”

Maybe if Alucard would be willing to at least tell him what to expect, it might make it all go a little easier. 

“Yes,” Alucard seemed relieved. “I will tell you everything I know.” He grimaced. “Which might not be as much as you think.”

“Yeah.” Eskel’s shoulders slumped a little. “I think we already ran into that problem. And your father is very little help.” He frowned over to Dracula. “Though to his credit he did try.”

“I am very helpful,” Dracula said, sounding mildly offended. 

Geralt snorted. “So, so helpful,” he said, voice thick with amusement. 

Even though Geralt was clearly being sarcastic, Dracula gestured to him anyways as if to say _see?_

Eskel rolled his eyes, then glanced quickly to Alucard. “After you're done with your business we can talk. I’m sure you have things you need to do.”

By now they all knew just how much work Alucard put into his persona and business here in Castlevania City. Even knowing that, it was extremely difficult to even suggest doing something that didn’t involve touching. They were still standing in each other’s space, nearly. 

The temptation turned out to be too much for Eskel to resist. He lifted a hand and trailed it down a lock of Alucard’s hair. It wasn’t quite as wild as it sometimes looked, but it was loose and free, softening up the harsh lines of his business suit. The contrast looked good and Eskel found himself wishing that Alucard would leave it this way. 

“I could give you a scalp massage. When you’re done with work,” Eskel offered tentatively. His cheeks burned a little because _for fuck’s sake_ Geralt, Dracula, and Iga were still watching with avid interest. Matt and John at least had the decency to pretend to be looking at their phones. 

“That…” Alucard cast an uncomfortable eye over the people gathered in his room. “Is very appealing. When there are fewer people around.”

Eskel looked at him with wide eyed agreement, and nodded his head.

“Massages are nice, but sex is better,” Dracula said with a smirk. “The two of you should just take a day or two and wear each other out. It would be good for you both.”

Eskel covered his face with one hand and just winced. 

Alucard, on the other hand, raised himself like an offended cat and turned to his father with something like a challenge in his body language.

“You sure you want me to try?” He asked mildly. “I might get where you want to be...before you.”

Dracula narrowed his eyes. His body stilled and he radiated some kind of intent that Eskel couldn’t quite read.

“Wait. You mean you’re not sleeping with either of them?” Matt asked. Then his eyes widened and his face turned bright red as he suddenly realized what he’d said. 

“He likes to think what we do is not sex,” Dracula offered, his eyes never leaving Alucard's eyes, locked in a battle of wills Eskel had no particular desire to be a part of.

“Please don’t,” Eskel said quietly, beyond embarrassed.

Dracula’s eyes flicked from Alucard to Eskel, unreadable and piercing. 

Eskel tensed, waiting for what Dracula would say to his plea. He already noticed that it really didn’t take much for the demon lord’s temper to snap. 

But Dracula said nothing. He just rested his hand on his fist, and watched Eskel with that unreadable expression.

“I would like to change the subject,” Alucard said, voice low and cool; an unmistakable order.

“Yes, please,” Eskel agreed, now covering his face with both hands. 

_I could just walk out_, he thought to himself. Then there wouldn’t be any commentary. Until the next time he showed up, and then it would be worse. 

John cleared his throat.

“The tailor for Mr. Belmont is here, maybe we could do the measuring now?”

Just to make doubly sure that he was out of whatever was going on between Alucard and Dracula, Eskel wandered over to the bed and sat down near Geralt. As much as he wanted to stand close to Alucard, this whole situation had neatly killed any desire to do so in front of so many people. 

“Tailor?” Alucard asked, finally tearing his eyes away from Dracula.

“For your father?” John raised his eyebrows, and then glanced at Dracula. “Before he arrived you suggested we get his measurements. Mr. Fisk has made himself available whenever we need. He’s also got the final batch of finished clothing for Eskel and Iga.”

“He was very nice,” Eskel said. 

His face was still a little hot, but the change of subject had gone a long way towards getting himself under control. He expected his sex life to be rampantly speculated about with the rest of their little family, but adding in Alucard’s people too was an extra level of discomfort. 

Also, was Dracula really serious about thinking they were already having sex? Granted, today was...admittedly out of bounds for what they normally did. But Eskel had really tried his best to keep things at a nonsexual level. 

He ran a hand through his hair and thought about the very nice old tailor. Unlike most people Eskel had been fitted by, Fisk was genuinely complimentary. He never went over the bounds of politeness, and he was an absolute professional at all times. But he also clearly thought Eskel looked very nice in his clothes. And probably out of them, too. But he expressed it in such a polite and understated way Eskel took it as the honest compliment it was.

Eskel was often feared and hated. Sometimes he was envied or even admired for his abilities. But seldom did anyone think he was _handsome_. 

When he looked up, he caught both Alucard and Dracula giving him a _look_. Just seeing that made Eskel blush again.

“Tailor you say,” Dracula dragged his gaze over Alucard’s suit. “Did he design your suits too?”

“He did. He’s my regular tailor, though occasionally I have tried out other designers,” Alucard answered. His voice had lost its cold edge but Eskel could feel him watching. 

“You should eat,” Geralt said to Eskel, nodding towards the spread of food. 

Right. Food. Eskel had forgotten about that. 

“Mother hen,” he grumbled and looked over to the table of treats. Alucard’s chef was skilled. Seldom did Eskel eat so well. But for whatever reason he just couldn’t muster up the interest for eating. It might have been all the anxiety, but his stomach was a giant knot. He could still feel that he _should_ be hungry, though. After a moment he waved his hand and said, “I’ll get to it in a minute.”

Dracula hummed to himself again and then nodded. “I’ll see your tailor. I do enjoy how he’s outfitted you, and I find myself very interested to see what else he has come up with.”

“Yesss, dresses,” Iga said quietly, looking like she was about ready to clap with glee. 

“If you try them on in the walk-in closet, you can take advantage of the mirrors there,” John said to her. There was a nervous blush to his face that suggested that maybe he just didn’t want to see her strip naked again. 

“Are you going to help me change, then?” Iga tilted forward to catch a look at John, her golden hair falling over her shoulder in a silky wave.

John swallowed hard and his eyes got about the size of gold coins. “I, um, I mean, I really couldn’t possibly…” He glanced over to Matt and Eskel for help.

Eskel noted with amusement that John didn’t bother looking to Geralt for help. Only a few days knowing him, and already John had caught on to how futile _that_ would be. 

“You don’t have to be shy,” Iga murmured, suddenly losing her predatory look and instead gaining a soft and sweeter aura. “I would like your opinion on the new dresses, since your taste has proven to be so well developed.”

The blush on John’s face only grew a little brighter, but he still shook his head. “While I appreciate the compliment, I’m not much of one for fashion. I would be a poor choice to help you.”

“I think this one is not a viable target for you, Iga.” Eskel took pity on John, unable to look at the man’s suffering.

She pouted a little, but John shot Eskel an incredibly grateful look.

While they’d been talking, Alucard had wandered over to a desk and pulled out his contacts, settling them into place with brisk efficiency. Eskel was a little sad to see his natural coloring covered up and from the looks of Dracula and Geralt, he wasn’t the only one. 

“Go ahead and send him up,” Alucard said. 

John nodded. “Geralt, once you’re ready the doctors want to run several stress tests on you as well as a conduct a general check up. We’ve got x-ray and ultrasound equipment set up to check out how your bones and organs are doing. Dr. Miller suggested that it might be time to remove _some_ of the bandaging.”

That made Geralt grin like a loon. “Yes! Can we do that while the tailor is here?” He looked over to Alucard, practically vibrating with excitement. “Matt could come with me, that way you can watch your father and Eskel get fitted.”

“The equipment is set up down the hall,” Matt added. “So everything is still on this floor’s security.”

Alucard nodded. “That will be fine. I need to know his exact stage of healing before we can proceed with the final…treatment,” he said, looking to Dracula, who nodded slightly in response. 

Yeah, Eskel suspected Dracula would be breathing power into Geralt the moment he was sure it wouldn’t kill him. Eskel hadn't thought it was that dangerous before, but having already almost died from it he'd reevaluated his stance. He knew from experience that Dracula’s power was much harsher than Alucard’s, too. Geralt definitely needed to be in good enough shape to handle that. 

It only took a few minutes for the doctor and nurses to come in with a wheelchair. 

After a moment of organized chaos, Geralt and Matt were whisked away for check ups and testing. The excitement radiating off of Geralt was practically a tangible force. Matt left with something closer to relief. As they walked out, Eskel watched John surreptitiously hand Alucard a tablet. No doubt the security app was on it, showing him the room that Geralt would be evaluated in.

Just after Geralt and Matt walked out, Fisk came in along with two of Alucard’s security. 

Both of the security guards were laden down with garment bags and Fisk himself had his small tailoring trunk. They set the bags gently down on a larger table along the wall and then showed themselves out. 

The older tailor looked as dapper today as he had the first time Eskel met him. Obviously he subscribed to the view that if he looked good, his clients would be more inclined to believe he could make them look good, too. Today he wore a soft grey pinstripe suit with a pale blue-green shirt and dark tie. His short grey hair was styled closely to his head, and his weathered face held a polite smile. 

“Mr. Belmont,” he said with a slight bow. “It is a pleasure to see you again.”

“Mr. Fisk. As always, I appreciate your promptness.” Alucard nodded back to him. “Meet my Father, Gabriel Belmont.” He motioned to Dracula, who was still sitting in his armchair as if it was a throne. Dracula didn’t get up but he nodded at Fisk; his eyes were a dark, banked red that looked almost brown in the soft light of the room.

“It is a great pleasure,” Fisk said with another short bow. “What dramatic coloring you have. How delightful. I hope I’ll be measuring you today?”

That pulled a tiny smirk from Dracula’s lips and his attention was definitely focused more on the tailor than before.

“Yes, apparently my son thinks my choice of clothing is too plain.”

“You need variety,” Alucard said with a dry eyebrow raised. “At least while you are here. And I thought you might enjoy some fine clothes. Haven’t you complimented mine more than once?”

“You do cut a fine figure,” Dracula said, his smirk growing a tiny bit more. “You should have Geralt fitted as soon as he is able. I would like to see what he looks like in these types of designs.”

Eskel snorted a little. No doubt Dracula would like to see that. Alucard’s clothes were tailored very well to his body, emphasizing his assets well while never letting it become too apparent that he was built like a fighter. For a moment Eskel wondered what Fisk thought about the scarring on Alucard’s chest. The man certainly hadn’t said anything about Eskel’s massively damaged form. 

“Which would you like first? Finishing the fitting on Mr. Eskel and Ms. Iga’s clothing? Or your own measurements?” Fisk asked, eyes flicking between Alucard and Dracula.

“Take care of Iga first,” Dracula said, gesturing with one hand.

“Thank you, my prince,” Iga said with a deep bow. Then she practically pranced over to where Fisk was gathering her bags. 

“How many are there?” she asked, looking down at his packages.

“Four designs with two different color palettes for each. Eight dresses in total. The final fitting for each shouldn’t take more than a moment. I promised my niece I would double check to make sure that they all fit you perfectly,” he said with a charming smile. “Shall we move to the dressing room?”

He gathered up the bags and waved her on.

“Yes, please,” Iga smiled like an excited little girl and turned to lead the way.

They disappeared into Alucard’s massive closet for a while. In the silence that followed, Eskel took another look at the table of food. 

Maybe he should try to eat something. 

By the time Iga stepped out into the room with one of her new dresses on, Eskel was well into his second plate. The moment that first morsel hit his mouth his stomach woke up and he suddenly realized he was ravenous. Alucard had taken a seat next to the empty bed and was watching the tablet screen avidly. Probably spying on Geralt. Dracula simply watched them both with interest.

When Fisk had said his niece's designs were a bit risque, he wasn’t lying. The dress was both elegant and also, somehow, incredibly erotic. It clung to Iga’s body like a glove, the geometric shapes cut into the cloth were exposing bits and pieces of her skin, catching the eye.

The color was a lovely deep plum that really brought out the shine in her skin and the gold of her hair. She glowed as she did a spin, showing off for the three of them. It looked very, very nice, Eskel had to admit. Probably would look even nicer with her horns showing, too. 

“Beautiful,” Eskel said, after swallowing a bite of bread. He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head, giving her figure a good look. “It shows off your considerable natural charms. Color is good, too.”

“You witchers always say such nice things,” Iga said, beaming at him.

Fisk also cast a smile towards Eskel. He’d come out to lean against the door jamb while Iga showed off. 

“I am glad to see you in better health, Mr. Eskel,” the tailor said watching Eskel eat.

“Pssh,” Eskel waved a hand, but he couldn’t stop the small smile on his face. He gently wiped his mouth with a napkin. “I just needed a little sleep.”

“It served you well, then,” Fisk commented.

There was something appreciative in how Fisk talked that made Eskel feel a little warm in the cheeks. Like the old tailor just...liked how he looked. It wasn’t flirting. It was just appreciation. Fisk seemed genuinely happy to see that Eskel was doing better. 

“I’m looking forward to seeing what you fixed up for me,” Eskel said. Strangely enough, that was true. It was so odd to be dressed up fancy in a way that Eskel _didn’t_ feel like he looked ridiculous. And he greatly appreciated how Fisk allowed for space for his weapons. That was a wonderful touch. 

Iga showed off for them a few more times, each time in a different dress, every new one more stunning than the last. She looked best in the jewel colors, rich and lively, but even the toned down ones were amazing. She also looked really happy with the dresses, clearly enjoying the whole process.

By the time she had gone through all her outfits, Eskel was done eating. She ended up leaving on one of her new dresses, a brilliant red number that was incredibly eye catching. Based on Fisk’s face, he was satisfied with the garment, too, though Eskel got the feeling it was a feeling of pride in accomplishment rather than anything else. 

“Mr. Eskel?” Fisk said, looking over to him. 

“Just Eskel is fine,” he said, and stood up to join Fisk in the spacious closet. For a moment it looked like both Dracula and Alucard wanted to join him. Or perhaps just object to his leaving, but Eskel glared at them both and said, “I’ll be out to show you in a minute.”

He knew from previous experience, that Dracula would not let him get away without showing off every piece of clothing. That was mainly the reason why the trip to replace Eskel’s swords and gear after his adventure with Steingard took so damn long. He was also outfitted in court clothes that were a pain in the ass most of the time. At least Mr. Fisk seemed much better behaved than the merchants in Ard Carraigh.

He walked into the closet before they could object, though he could practically feel the pouting.

“If you’ll please disrobe, I’ll get your first suit ready,” Fisk said, and made himself busy opening some garment bags. 

When Eskel had stripped down to his underwear, some modern fashion that were more like thin baggy shorts than good long johns, he turned to look at Fisk.

The tailor looked at him up and down, eyes flickering to the bruises on his neck and chest. While there was a hint of pleasure on his face, or maybe amusement, he mostly managed to school his expression. He did raise an eyebrow at the underwear though. 

“Undergarments under these suits is, of course, up to the gentleman’s preference. The looser fit of these would ruin the lines of the suit, so many men prefer to abstain. However, there are also fine microfiber items that can be worn for hygiene and comfort purposes.”

Eskel had a brief, horrible flashback to gold embroidered hose and the awful studded doublet that went with it. Dracula had argued for no codpiece, and quite frankly Eskel hadn’t been sure whether it was worse to go with or without it.

“Uh…” 

“Perhaps you should try without first, and then with? To see which is more comfortable for you?”

Heat stole over Eskel’s face and down his neck and he closed his eyes for a moment. 

“I am the soul of discretion, I assure you,” Fisk said in a comforting tone. “Your preferences will stay between us.”

Yeah, except everyone else in the other room had very excellent hearing. Then again, the rooms were very well insulated. Just to be sure, he wandered over and made sure the door was firmly shut. 

After a long moment of hesitation, he headed back over to the mirrors and said, “We can do as you suggested. Start without and then try with.” Eskel ran a finger over the fabric of the hanging suit. “It’s very soft.”

“It is,” Fisk said, beaming. “Very comfortable, too. And we should get your weapons as well, once you are dressed. That way I can make sure they are properly concealed as you wear them.”

He snorted and nodded. “Most are out on the table. Not sure we could get the swords hidden though.” Eskel smirked at Fisk with amusement. 

“There can be elegant bags made and depending on the length of the blades I could probably design a long coat or two capable of concealing even those, however I am not sure if the mobility of such a garment would be acceptable. Satchels, briefcases and other type of business-appropriate bags seem to be a more reliable choice.”

Eskel raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You impress me. Most here seem to be very uncomfortable with my chosen tools.”

“It’s my job to help you be elegant as well as comfortable, in whatever manner most pleases you,” Fisk said with a warm smile. After a moment, the smile turned a touch mischievous. “And it would hardly be the strangest thing I have ever made.”

“Alright, now I’m curious.” 

“A gentleman’s gentleman never tells.” Fisk winked at him, making Eskel snort in laughter again.

Then Eskel sighed. Time to get naked. He stripped off his underwear and put on the pants that Fisk handed him. Never once did the tailor give him anything but a completely professional manner. But at the same time, Eskel could tell that the man was pleased with what he saw. As if he were looking at a newly found favorite painting, rather than a body he was lusting after. It was a strangely pleasant feeling. 

The charcoal blue pants were snug, very snug, around his groin, ass, and thighs, though the fabric had enough give that it didn’t feel restrictive. Eskel put on a pale teal button up shirt, noting as he buttoned up that the bites across his neck and chest had already faded a fair amount. They looked a couple days old rather than less than an hour. As he dressed, Fisk checked hems and helped him adjust the legs and sleeves. 

After the thin, fine material of the shirt was settled into place, Fisk helped him knot a dark tie around his neck and then eased him into a tightly cut vest. As he held it up, Fisk showed him a series of elastic pouches sewn onto the inside. Four throwing blades could be easily fit there and retrieved without the need to pull the clothes apart. Fisk also seemed very proud of the fact the blades shouldn’t be visible even with the jacket off.

“You’ll want accessories to go with this. A tie pin and pocket watch. The chain will accent the vest in just the right way. I suggest something in white gold or platinum,” Fisk said, smoothing a hand down his front. “The pale shine will be very striking against the dark color of the vest. Perhaps Mr. Belmont has something you can borrow, just for the fitting?”

Eskel hummed to himself. On one hand, he didn’t care. On the other hand, Alucard and Dracula would. The nicer these outfits looked, the less likely he would have to endlessly try on more until they were both satisfied. 

“I’ll ask,” he said finally, and walked over to crack open the door and peek his head out. 

Iga was lounging in a chair, still happily gazing at her new dress. Dracula and Alucard, however, were watching the door like hawks watching a rabbit hole. 

“Trevor. I need to borrow some of your shiny stuff for a minute. That alright?” Eskel asked, eyebrows raised.

“By all means,” Alucard said with an elegant hand wave. “There is an armoire of it along the wall. Feel free to choose what you like.”

Eskel snorted. “Unless you have knives in there, it’s probably not to my taste. Speaking of which,” he looked at Dracula. “Do I get my swords back sometime soon?”

“After the fittings,” Dracula responded, sounding taken aback. 

Eskel saw that John was up from his seat, near the window, the phone to his ear and talking quietly. He wasn’t really paying attention to Eskel or Dracula at the moment.

“Fisk needs to see them to see if he can make something that will...I donno. Match? Cover them up?” Eskel shrugged. 

“That…sounds interesting.” Dracula got up from his chair and walked up to Eskel. When his back was to John he brought his hands up in front of him and out of nowhere Eskel’s sword harness appeared hanging from his hand.

Eskel narrowed his eyes. 

“If you make me walk out there and get them, you won’t get to see how nice I look once everything is on. The surprise will be ruined.”

“Hmm,” Dracula rubbed his chin. “I do like the idea of you posing for me.” He nodded and extended harness towards Eskel. “I do hope for a good show.”

“Oddly enough, these clothes aren’t nearly as bad as they could be. They’re very soft,” Eskel said. He wasn’t really paying attention to the words though. His swords took up the bulk of his focus. A light, happy, fuzzy feeling filled him up as he took the harness. He took a moment to look them over, and then he smiled at Dracula. “Thank you,” he said quietly. 

Dracula looked him over, at least whatever he could see of Eskel, and smiled slowly.

“My pleasure.”

Then he turned back towards the room and returned to his chair, sprawling in it like some kind of king. Which he essentially was, Eskel supposed.

Eskel made sure that he shut the door firmly before taking a moment to press his swords close to his chest. He’d missed them very much. Fuck this city and their dislike of large bladed weapons.

Then he blinked, and remembered that he wasn’t alone in the room. Fisk was standing near the mirrors watching Eskel with a warm, amused smile on his face. Eskel winced.

“A gentleman’s gentleman never tells,” Fisk said, still smiling. “What happens in a fitting room stays there.”

Right that moment, Eskel kind of wanted to kiss the man. Every single other person he knew would have teased the shit out of him. It would be neverending. He’d hear _Eskel hugs his swords!!_ until the day he died. 

“You are my new favorite person,” Eskel said. 

“Thank you.” Fisk lowered his lids and bowed ever so gently. “I find it to be a great pleasure working with you, Mr. Eskel.”

Heat touched Eskel’s face again and he turned his attention back to his swords. Just to be sure nothing was amiss, he unsheathed the silver one and gave it a twirl. Runes shone on the blade, just as when he last saw it. Heavy, gleaming, and perfect. It had been part of his payment for enduring Dracula’s fun during the whole Steingard fiasco. Where the hell Dracula had gotten this sword to begin with, Eskel had no idea, but it was the best silver blade he’d ever seen. 

He returned that one to its scabbard and tried the steel blade. Just as with the silver, the runes inscribed on the blade shimmered in the light. It was a star metal steel alloy, and it was stupidly expensive. Also paid for by Dracula’s coin. Perfectly balanced and wicked in a fight.

Eskel sighed happily and sheathed that one as well.

“They are very beautiful,” Fisk said. “They suit you perfectly.”

He had no idea what to say to that, or what it meant that ultimately it was Dracula who chose the swords. Yes, Eskel accepted them as beautiful, but it was the vampire that brought them to him in the first place.

Rather than think too hard about it, Eskel searched around and found Alucard’s hoard of jewelry. He opened a small dresser only to find tiny drawer after tiny drawer filled with stunning gems and metals. Most were in Alucard’s signature colors of blue and green, but he had a variety. Eskel couldn’t help but smile at the fiery red and orange gems tucked into one of the drawers. Those definitely weren’t Alucard's colors, but they were Dracula’s. It made him feel oddly touched to see the way Alucard made space in his life for things that reminded him of Dracula.

“Help me pick. I have no idea what most of this is,” Eskel said, waving Fisk over. “Actually…” He’d taken off his medallion for a moment to get the damn shirt and tie on. “Is there a way to settle my necklace on over this stuff?” He gesture to his clothes. “I don’t like being without it.”

“Of course.”

Eskel went to grab it as Fisk peered through the collection. When he came back, Fisk had picked out a few bright, shining white chains as well as a couple of other little knick knacks that Eskel recognized as items that Alucard sometime wore. He’d assumed they pinned material into place, but he also could be completely wrong. For all he knew, they could be poison applicators. 

“Have you thought about piercing your ears, Mr. Eskel?” Fisk asked, gripping the little holes in the sleeve of Eskel’s shirt and threading the small pin through, capping it with the pale blue gemstone piece.

“It would be more effort than it’s worth,” he said absently, watching with interest as Fisk worked. “I heal too quickly. Even if I punched a rather large hole, it would still probably heal over completely. Plus I’m not sure I want something dangling off my skin like that in a fight.” He paused, thinking about it. “Probably wouldn’t matter if they got ripped out, but it would be really annoying to continually need to replace whatever was lost.”

“Understandable,” Fisk agreed. “I find your appearance to be suited by more flashy jewelry than I would usually suggest to my clients. Much like Mr. Belmont, there is understated fire in you that works really well with clear gemstones.”

“Yeah?” Eskel looked at the gem on his wrist cuff, shaking it back and forth to watch it shine. “I...nearly never wear fancy clothes like this. I’m almost always in armor, and that stuff needs to take a beating.” He held up his witcher medallion. “This is about the only thing I wear, and even it is more functional than decoration.”

“Here, expensive clothes are both the weapon and the armor, something which Mr. Belmont is uniquely aware of and extremely proficient in using. While I understand in your line of business the priorities are different, it is good in my opinion to have a wider range of…equipment, so to say,” Fisk said, stepping back and looking Eskel over the way a good smith looked over a sword during forging.

Eskel tilted his head and looked at Fisk. “You make a very good point. Do you think I would be more frightening for Trevor’s opponents if I were to be dressed like this, or with my blades out in the open?”

“In my experience, a wolf just barely disguised as a sheep is much more terrifying than if it appeared to be merely a wolf.” Fisk started walking around Eskel and tugging here and there at the jacket. “It’s harder to see him coming that way.”

Given how Dracula seemed to operate in this world, that seemed to fit. Eskel raised his eyebrows and nodded, seeing the wisdom in the words. 

“Alright. Help me look more dangerous,” Eskel said, and handed Fisk his medallion. 

“It would be my pleasure,” Fisk said with a smile. He switched out the chain on the medalion to something that matched the rest of the jewelry and affixed it around Eskel’s neck so it hung just below the knot of the tie. A chain was added to the vest, and Fisk offered him a ring. Eskel noted that while the gem was large and startlingly bright for such a pale blue, it was an oval cut that fit smoothly to a simple bezel setting. No sharp or pointed bits to catch on anything and it would be easy on the hands if he had to punch someone.

“If you would like a few instructions regarding the clothes?”

“Please,” Eskel said gratefully.

“Once you are dressed, do not fidget or try to tug the clothes into place, no matter how much it feels like you should. Note what’s feeling wrong and I will have it adjusted, but never let anybody see you be uncomfortable in the clothes. Carry your chin at an angle slightly above ninety degrees, shoulders back. Expose the chest as if there is nothing to fear. Do not look at the jewelry but make sure it is fully visible.”

Eskel nodded. That was good advice, he could tell. Often he employed similar tactics with his regular gear.

“Should something go wrong with the clothes, try and make it look deliberate. If a button snaps, unfasten the whole garment and act like _this_ is the only correct way to carry yourself.” Fisk tugged at the collar of Eskel’s shirt and frowned mildly. “You will recognize hired muscle at any high-level party by the significantly lower quality suits than the other party goers have and no or very few accessories.”

“Makes sense. Few people think to keep their guards in as many gems as would be convincing.” Though often Eskel had found many people liked their guards to be obvious, often a matched set too.

Fisk smiled.

“Do you know how to recognize original gemstones?”

“They smell different,” Eskel said. “Real stones smell like minerals. Faked stones smell like crap.” He had to sigh then and nodded his head back and forth in a _so-so_ kind of movement. “Some are obvious if you look close. Dyed gems don’t have much of a smell, but are easy to spot. I’m not sure I could tell the difference between a really clever fake, but most I can see. Assuming I am close enough to look.”

“Then you will quickly find that many members of the elite use fake stones thinking nobody will recognize them.”

Eskel snorted. “Same’s true where I come from, too.”

“Should you ever be pressed into a corner during an official meeting, you can always politely inquire where such nice copies can be acquired.”

That made Eskel snicker. “Noted.” 

“Other than that, simply display all the assets available to you. That should distract people enough they will forget to think what is hidden under the careful misdirection of the suits.”

The phrasing of that made Eskel feel a little warm. It was possible that Fisk was talking about Eskel’s intimidating appearance, but somehow he got the idea that wasn’t the case. 

At this point, it looked like Fisk was finished gently tugging things into place. 

“Which assets?”

“The eyes are striking enough,” Fisk said promptly, stepping away and looking at Eskel appraisingly. “Chest and shoulders should have most women distracted and men jealous enough. And of course, there are the…_neither regions_.” Fisk nodded to himself, looking down to said nether regions, both front and back. “Very well shaped.” Fisk rubbed his chin. “If in doubt, I suggest perching against tables or other structures of similar height. I made sure the material will hold up well and not stretch too much.”

A little more heat filled Eskel’s cheeks and his ears, but he had to laugh at Fisk’s assessment. “Noted.” He ran a hand down the front of the jacket, taking in the feel of the plush material. “Am I ready to be seen?”

“You are probably always ready, but now especially.” Fisk nodded, and waved a hand towards the door. 

Eskel gave him a nod, and then held up his swords. “After they get done circling like sharks, I can show you how I wear these.” He thought for a moment. “The harness would be uncomfortable over this jacket, but it would feel fine with just the shirt and vest.”

“They rest on your back?” Fisk asked, face a mask of concentration. At Eskel’s nod, he brought a hand up to his chin and hummed. “I will consider patterns. But, yes, I would appreciate if you would model them for me. And show me how you draw.”

“No problem.”

After one last breath, Eskel settled himself and headed back out into the bedroom. He moved like he was on a job, with purpose, and as if the sword harness in his hand was his favorite weight in the world to bear. 

As expected, he had instant attention the moment he entered the room. He kept Fisk’s advice in mind as he walked forward to stand closer to where Alucard and Dracula sat. When he was out hunting he often lowered his head a little, glaring at those around him like a wild beast. But Fisk was right. In this gear, he should be looking down his nose at people. So instead of moving like he was ready to tear the place apart with his bare hands, Eskel strode in like he owned it and was going to order it ripped apart. 

When he got close enough to Alucard and Dracula that he was roughly evenly placed between them, he stopped to gauge their reaction. 

“Oh my.” Iga was the first to say anything out loud. “Mr. Fisk, I am loving the view.”

Dracula was looking at him with those banked red eyes, with his head resting on a braced fist. His thumb kept running over his short facial hair and Eskel could swear he could feel the weight of his gaze. He could tell exactly where Dracula was looking by the way his skin tingled under the clothes.

“Turn around,” Dracula said after a long, long moment of just leisurely running his eyes over Eskel’s body. As if there was anything new to find there, anything he hadn’t seen already.

Now was the time to add a bit more of his normal dangerous look, Eskel knew. He turned as asked, but also looked over his shoulder at them, keeping his gaze cool and evaluating. His head was just slightly tilted down, like he’d just scented something worth hunting. 

This was almost fun, playing up the part. Eskel found that Fisk’s suggestions had gone a long way towards making him enjoy the experience. Eskel _liked_ looking dangerous. Most of the fancy clothes Dracula had him try on during the last shopping spree just made him feel stupid. These clothes made him feel like a more elegant version of himself. A perfectly balanced throwing knife rather than a weighted dagger.

“What do you think? Will I terrify John’s colleagues?” Eskel asked.

“Yes.” It was Alucard who answered, his voice uncommonly low. “They won’t know what to do with themselves.”

“To be fair, you were terrifying already,” John added quietly. “But yes. The look suits you.”

Eskel turned around to face them again and grinned. 

“The jewelry too,” Dracula said slowly, his voice raspy and very slow, dragging over Eskel’s skin like molasses. “Mr. Fisk, I applaud you on your mastery. The clothes enhance what was already there.”

Alucard just stared, eyes a little wide. He opened his mouth to say something but then just sat there. It took a moment for him to shut his mouth after that.

“I assure you, it was my pleasure to create something for Mr. Eskel,” Fisk said warmly. “He has been most charming, and seldom do I get to build garments for someone so well proportioned.”

The compliment was so sincere that Eskel couldn’t help but be pleased. Again, there was something in how Fisk was just honestly appreciative that was nice to hear.

Dracula got up from his chair and walked closer to Eskel.

“Are the clothes as fine to touch as they look?” he asked in that rough voice of his and reached out to run the backs of his fingers over Eskel’s arm.

“They’re very soft,” Eskel said, shivering a little as Dracula touched him. The fitting process had kept his mind occupied enough that he wasn’t thinking about the vague skin hunger that had come over him since Alucard and he had stopped touching. But Dracula’s gentle fingers made his skin come alive for a moment. Not quite as nice as Alucard’s touch might have been, but still very pleasant. 

“Made from the finest materials,” Fisk said, his voice oozing with satisfaction. “Strong, light, durable, and very comfortable.”

“Yes,” Dracula murmured, dragging his fingers high over Eskel’s bicep. He flattened his hand over Eskel’s chest, accidentally-on-purpose passing over the marks he left there earlier, and then moved to feel over the jacket, shirt, and vest, ending the touch somewhere above Eskel’s belly. “Very fine indeed.”

This was a far better reaction than Eskel had gotten from the vast majority of the other outfits during that first shopping trip. He’d always gotten the feeling that Dracula found Kaedweni high court wear just as ridiculous as Eskel did and was greatly amused to see Eskel prance around in it. 

A thought occurred to Eskel. 

It wasn’t what he might normally do. But…these clothes were quite nice. And Dracula already had a hand on him. He found he wouldn’t mind if Alucard joined, too.

He glanced to Alucard, and raised up his arm, the one on the opposite side from where Dracula was standing. “Want to feel?”

Alucard swallowed and then nodded, kind of surprising Eskel with the fact he took the invitation at all, and so easily to boot.

Dracula moved aside like water, giving way to Alucard as he never did for anybody else. Alucard never even looked at his father; his eyes were fixed solely on Eskel.

He stopped just a few inches away from them and licked his lips. Then he raised his hand and put it over Eskel’s shoulder; the contact sent a shiver straight down Eskel’s back.

“The blend is different,” Alucard said softly. Then he dragged his hand to Eskel’s neck, brushing the edge of the collar and the skin above it.

“Mr. Eskel’s clothes need to be sturdy enough to conceal several blades. Should there come a time where a gun harness needs to be concealed as well, this cut and material will adjust easily to it.” 

“Blades are better in closed spaces like office buildings,” Alucard said, looking as if he wasn't even paying attention to what he was saying. He dragged his finger over the rim of Eskel’s collar. “Quieter.”

After days of surfing the internet, Eskel now had a vague idea of what a gun was. So far he wasn’t terribly impressed. “You never need to reload a knife,” he said with a sniff. 

His eyes closed halfway at the feel of Alucard’s hand on him. This was good. Very good. If they could just figure out how to do this more often, he might be a happier person.

The thought surprised him a little. He had to wonder how much of it was this new bond with Alucard affecting him and how much was just his love of being held. 

“I need to try on my swords,” he said, somewhat reluctantly. 

“With the suit?” Alucard asked, his eyebrows arching up high.

“Most of it,” Eskel answered, and started unbuttoning his jacket. The way Alucard licked his lips after that made him pause a moment and realize just what that sounded like. 

He took a breath and kept going, mildly cursing his inability to speak well. Then he slithered out of the jacket. In an instant, Fisk was by his side, taking it off his hands and moving to hang it on the back of a chair.

It was a little awkward getting on his swords with both Dracula and Alucard standing just a touch too close, but he managed. After a moment of adjusting how the harness rested, he looked back to Dracula and Alucard.

“Looks ridiculous now, doesn’t it?” he said, smirking with self-depreciation. 

“Mr. Fisk,” Alucard said, his eyes never leaving Eskel. “If we made the sheath from kevlar, changed the design to be a little more futuristic, do you think it would work?”

“I would add silver or polished metal accents, especially at the bottom and over the shoulder…” Fisk trailed off, his eyes gaining that far away look of somebody imagining something. “A knee length coat, flared a little at the bottom, with a high standing collar in the back…Mr. Eskel, if we changed the angle of the blades, could you be able to draw them from behind your neck rather than over the shoulder?”

Eskel frowned and thought about it. “I think the blades might be too long.”

“A shorter set then,” Dracula murmured. “Mr. Fisk, prepare your designs. I will get a different set of swords for him.”

Eskel opened his mouth to object, but then just sighed. “I suppose a different set of gear for this city would make sense. I’ll have to practice like crazy.” Then he shook his head. “Well, maybe it won’t be that bad. I do like the length though. Short swords require different technique. It’ll be weird.”

He stood there running through scenarios in his head. 

“But won’t it be interesting? Mastering a new blade?” It was Alucard of all people, looking like he really wanted to dress Eskel up in clothes of this world.

It made Eskel raise his eyebrows in vague surprise. He hummed for a moment and then nodded. “Vesemir will help. He’s the best at blade work of us witchers. Though I swear, the first time I have to stab something and I really could have used that extra six inches to reach its heart, I’m gonna come tell you about it. And I’m keeping this set for my regular Path.”

And then Alucard’s eyes widened.

“Extendable blades,” Alucard said slowly. Then he looked up to his father. “Don’t get him swords.” He turned to John. “Get pictures of Eskel’s swords and send them to the Bernhard’s RD department, have them make two for me. One silver, as pure as they can make it without endangering the strength and the other one whatever they come up with.”

“The runes…” Eskel thought about the enchantments on his blades. They weren’t _critical_ to fighting, but they were really fucking helpful.

“...Might not work here, but we can figure something else in its place.” Alucard waved him off, still looking at John. “Have them prepare a few sizes, not too small, a warrior likes to know what he is carrying. Add in as many nasty surprises as they can come up with. I want it as promptly as possible.” Then he frowned. “Also, take photos and measurements of Geralt’s swords. Let’s make him some new ones too.”

“Wait, _extendable_ blades?” Eskel asked. “Like the combat cross thing we keep seeing in all the Alucard movies? That’s a real thing?”

“Combat cross.” Dracula’s face darkened; the light and almost playful mood soured somehow. “No, nothing like that. That’s a relic of the past.”

Eskel held back a wince, once again cursing his big, fat, stupid mouth. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to…” 

What, exactly, he didn’t mean to do he wasn’t quite sure. Spoil the mood maybe? Bring up bad memories? It was hard for him to tell.

“Something smooth and elegant.” Dracula turned back to Alucard. “With a stylized white wolf for Geralt.”

“Agreed,” Alucard said firmly. Then he turned to Eskel again, all professional detachment. “Do you want any trademark?” 

Eskel blinked, not really getting what Alucard was asking.

“A mark specific to you only.”

That made Eskel furrow his brows and think. “I don’t actually have one. Geralt’s the only one of us who got famous enough for his own moniker. I mean, we’re both knighted in various countries. Given a nice ‘thank you, sir’ and then promptly booted out the door. Not that anyone but us keeps track of our titles. Witchers are basically interchangeable to most people.” 

He couldn’t think of any particular thing that was a good signifier. Eventually he just shrugged. “Beyond my school medallion, I don’t really carry any specific mark. Not that I’m opposed, I just wouldn’t know what to pick.”

“A cat,” Dracula suggested. “Crouched and ready to leap, with huge eyes.”

That made Eskel huff in amusement. “A cat, huh. Alright.”

Secretly, Eskel suspected that Dracula was just making a private joke about how Eskel liked to be petted, but he was too wise to say anything about it right then. Besides. It was hard to bitch about something that was true. 

He smirked and eyed Alucard. “I suppose the rest of you do have a lock on the wolf motif.” 

“It does seem to go around,” Alucard smiled gently, casting Eskel an amused look.

Dracula looked mildly affronted. “I am very partial to dragons myself.”

A sudden terrifying thought occurred to Eskel. He’d grown claws earlier. That was an ability Dracula had, but Alucard did not. There were many such abilities. What if Eskel ended up shifting forms? Dracula could turn into a literal dragon, terrifying and massive. 

Worry raced around in his mind for a moment before he dismissed it. There wasn’t anything he could do about this now. The best he could do was ask advice later and then just cope if it happened. And at least all of Dracula’s forms were _useful_. Although turning into bats sounded both disorienting and unpleasant. 

There was the opposite problem, too. Alucard could turn into a spectral wolf. As far as Eskel knew, Dracula wasn’t able to do that. A useful ability, sure, but Alucard had a bad habit of falling through walls and floors when he was stoned and sleeping. He’d ended up in Eskel’s bed more than once because he’d fallen through the floor in his own room. How, exactly, that worked, Eskel still wasn’t sure since Geralt’s room was next to Eskel’s on the same floor. It had happened enough by now that he’d just stopped questioning it.

“Eskel?” Alucard asked, interrupting his thoughts. He looked a little worried.

“Sorry.” Eskel shook his head. “I’m fine. Was just thinking.” He realized that even though Dracula and Alucard had stopped touching him when he took off his jacket, they were both still standing very close. “I need to run through a sword dance. See if these clothes will hold up.”

Both Alucard and Dracula stepped back and reclaimed their seats, including the insolent sprawl on Dracula’s part that made Eskel think he was performing for a king or court. 

As soon as they stepped away, Eskel drew his silver sword. He spun it lazily around for a moment, warming up his wrist. 

“I can’t wait for Geralt to get better. I want someone to practice against,” he said offhandedly. “Although I still haven’t had a chance to spar against Matt. Guy has been doing a good job of keeping us occupied with other things.”

After a moment he passed the silver to his off-hand and drew the steel as well. He spun both of them slowly, warming up the second wrist and getting into a rhythm. Those were long blades, he always had to be aware of their reach and where the blades were in relation to each other.

Since this wasn’t a full practice, Eskel just picked a simple sword dance. Something that had a fair amount of movement, but wouldn’t last too long. The practice form ran through each of the parries and blocks for both blades. By force of habit he added in pirouettes and tight leaps; nothing that would endanger anything or anyone around him, but enough that he could get a solid idea of how his clothing would react to the activity. 

The clothes stretched against his skin as his muscles tensed; the close fit didn’t hinder his movement at all. If not for the somewhat tight feel of fabric at various points on his body, he would have thought he was training naked. The suit was about a hundred times lighter than his regular steel-studded leather armor. 

When the dance ended, he stood in the exact same place and position that he started in. Eskel looked himself over. As far as he could tell, the suit was still picture perfect, though the shirt had come just a little untucked. 

Fisk broke into applause off to his side. “Most impressive, Mr. Eskel. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Eskel looked up in mild surprise. He’d forgotten for a moment that he was being watched. 

“It was just standard training,” he said, feeling a little embarrassed by the honest awe on the old tailor’s face. “All Wolf witchers can do it in their sleep.”

“Be that as it may, your demonstration was a rare treat for me.” Fisk smiled at him. “I am also pleased to see that nothing looks in disarray. How did your clothes feel? Was there discomfort anywhere?”’

Eskel shook his head. “Felt fine. Light. Very light. Like I was fighting in my sleep clothes, maybe, but nothing pinched.”

“Excellent.” Fisk beamed with satisfaction. 

“You should come up someday when Geralt is healed up,” Eskel offered on impulse. “See us spar.” Then he grimaced. “Well, see me getting my ass kicked, but at least it’s going to be a show.”

“You give as good as you get,” Alucard said, his eyes glued to Eskel’s body. “Especially when you use signs. He might be a slightly better swordsman, but your signs are stronger.”

“You haven’t seen him cast Igni recently, have you?” Eskel asked with a wry twist of his lips.

That comment finally roused Dracula, who’d been silently staring at Eskel with an unreadable look. “Oh?” he said. “Interesting.”

“Uh huh,” Eskel nodded. It was obvious that Dracula got the implication. 

Over the past year, Geralt’s fire sign had gotten ridiculously powerful. He was no slouch before, but now he had to spend time practicing to limit the conflagration. No doubt it had something to do with Geralt’s bond with Dracula and how easily Dracula could call fire to his hands. 

Eskel hadn’t noticed much change in Geralt’s other signs. Maybe Aard got a bit more powerful, but Quen and Yrden seemed unchanged. He’d no idea if Geralt had tried out Axii yet; it was a little trickier to practice. Igni was definitely the one that showed the most impressive development. He had to admit he laughed himself silly when he watched Geralt curse and flail, trying to stop the flames.

“I would be honored to return to watch you both. Perhaps we can arrange it when Mr. Geralt needs his measuring?” Fisk looked to Alucard, eyebrows slightly raised.

Alucard just nodded absently. He was still staring. It was enough that Eskel felt his cheeks heat up a little. 

“That sounds like a very fetching idea,” Dracula said from his chair, his eyes a little soft. Eskel blushed a bit more realizing Dracula was definitely fantasizing about Geralt at this moment.

The worst part was, he knew damn well that Geralt would be completely on board with whatever fantasies Dracula was coming up with. They were well matched. 

“Shall we get to the other outfits?” Fisk asked.

“There are more.” Dracula’s eyes flicked over to Fisk.

Fisk grinned at him. “Oh yes. Mr. Eskel has four more suits to try on and three more casual outfits.”

A strange light came into Dracula’s eyes and he gestured towards the dressing room. “By all means.”

Eskel sheathed his swords, all while shaking his head. “At least you’re entertained,” he said ruefully.

“Try them with knives sheathed,” Alucard murmured, watching him as carefully as Dracula.

Dracula turned to Alucard, his eyebrows raising and then back to Eskel, looking even more pleased than before.

“My Son makes a good point.” Dracula nodded to Eskel’s gear still on the bedside table. “We need to know if you can get them in and out without a problem.”

Since that was on the To Do list anyways, Eskel nodded. He slipped out of his sword harness and placed it on the bed, then picked through his collection on the end table. 

“I don’t think I’ll have enough room for all of them,” he said. Fisk joined him and watched with interest as he picked out his favorites. “I’ll need space for the potions…”

“There are hidden pockets in your suit jacket,” Fisk said. “The bottles will have to be fairly small, but it should accommodate at least a few of them.”

“Do you think I can get some blades on my arms?” 

“A couple of smaller blades, yes.” 

Then Fisk proceeded to show him how they could slip under the cuffs. Eskel already had arm sheathes, so it only took a moment to add those on. With a little bit of fiddling Eskel found he could slip the blades in and out relatively easily.

“If it’s acceptable, I have brought a few examples of garrote wire that can be fitted into the edges of the sleeves?” Fisk offered consolingly, watching the pile of weapons that Eskel had to leave on the bedside table.

That made Eskel humm in thought. “I’d be willing to try it. It’s not something I normally use. Killing a man with a wire takes far more effort than people think, and other creatures just aren’t as susceptible. Although...” He raised his eyebrows as a thought occurred to him. “I know that this city can make very fine metal wire. Maybe something with a silver blend? Either way, I’m not going to turn down more weapons.”

“I’m sure we can get you silver blend wire if you want some,” Dracula chimed in eagerly from his chair. “As long as you properly show it off to us.”

Eskel turned to stare at him in confusion. “How would I properly show it off to you if it’s a hidden wire?”

Then he frowned, because he could swear Fisk murmured under his breath something that sounded like, “Such good taste,” but he couldn’t be sure. 

“We could find something for you to kill,” Iga said helpfully, completely distracting Eskel from questioning Fisk.

“What could there be to kill in this tower?” He spread his arms. “Besides,” he turned to Dracula. “Why are you promising me things Trevor has to get?” He looked to Alucard, but the younger vampire wasn’t looking at him. Instead, he was bending over John’s shoulder and watching him type on a small keyboard.

“Any preferences regarding length?” Alucard glanced up at him, touching John’s shoulder to pause his typing.

Eskel blinked at him. Then he raised up his hands to show an approximate measurement. “Enough to get around a fairly thick neck and then have room to twist it up. Witchers are good at improvising, so it doesn’t really need to be exact.”

He was a little surprised by how out of hand this was getting. Both Alucard and Dracula seemed to be avidly on board with this whole outfitting process. It made him wonder just how much time they expected he would spend here.

He decided to nip off the wildly swerving conversation by going to change. Fisk followed, quiet and respectful as he presented Eskel with thin, obscenely nice underwear to try under the next suit.

This time the changing went faster; Eskel already remembered how to put on and tug the clothes into place. The colors were a shade darker, the material more matte than the previously almost shiny-smooth one, but it felt just as nice. 

He couldn’t help the heat slowly building up in his belly at the way Dracula watched him in the suits. He already knew that the vampire wanted him in his bed, but it was a different thing to be admired like this. Dracula had already seen him naked, more than once; he shouldn’t be staring at him with such pleasure just because Eskel was wearing fancy clothes.

By the time he showed off the last outfit, Eskel realized he was enjoying this more than he ever expected. Dracula watched him with unwavering focus each time he showed up with a new set of clothes. Alucard wasn’t hiding the fact he thought that Eskel looked nice, dictating to John new items to be added to the endless shopping list, ranging from weapons to accessories. Something about watches that Eskel chose not to listen to too closely. 

He never expected himself to feel this strangely excited, just for showing off clothes somebody else bought him. Witchers didn’t require luxury, had nowhere to keep unnecessary items like this, but it didn’t change the fact Eskel felt fluttery and excited, oddly proud even, of how the vampires looked at him.

Rather than changing back to his older clothes, Eskel opted just to keep one of the newer casual outfits on. They were jeans, but well fitted ones that reminded him of his leather pants, plus another nice shirt. This one was of a slightly thicker material than his button ups, but is was soft as sin and clung to him like a second skin. It was a gentle grey color, and reminded him of a kitten’s fur. He found himself crossing his arms just so he could unobtrusively rub a thumb along the material. There was a leather jacket to go with it which Eskel found he liked, but for the time being he left that hanging up. With the more casual clothes he was able to get all of his hidden weapons back on, which was also nice. 

There were a couple of disappointed sighs when he opted not to stay in a suit for the rest of the night, but Eskel elected to ignore them.

“It’s your turn now, isn’t it?” Eskel asked Dracula, going to do what Fisk told him and perch on the table next to Alucard. He noticed the way both Alucard’s and Dracula’s eyes dragged down to his thighs. Hm, maybe Fisk really was onto something with his advice.

“Yes,” Dracula said, nodding. “I believe you have something for me?”

Fisk nodded.

“Just the one suit design for now, I didn’t want to create more before actually meeting you in person.” His eyes flicked over Dracula’s form. 

“I don’t mind,” Dracula said unexpectedly pleasantly. “I am aware good craftsmanship can not be rushed.”

The old tailor, who remained absolutely unmoved up until now, blushed under Dracula’s praise.

“Let me show you some of my popular styles, and you tell me what you like. I am perfectly capable of creating something unique for your tastes, but these starting designs will help give us both an idea of what you would prefer.” Fisk grabbed a tablet out of his trunk and approached Dracula. After a moment of pressing on the screen, he brought up the first picture and handed the tablet over. “This one is what I created based on what I’d heard of you. If you swipe to the left, it will show you other completed works.”

Dracula poked through the pictures, making the occasional observation while Fisk took notes. 

After several minutes of this, Fisk nodded. “I think I have what I need on that front. Now for the measurements.”

He waved a hand towards the dressing room, but Dracula simply stood up and started stripping. Eskel was completely unsurprised, though John did a double take and then buried his nose in his laptop. If Fisk was surprised at all, he hid it well.

Dracula discarded the jacket, tossing it carelessly onto the armchair, then he unbuttoned the black shirt with quick fingers and pulled that off too. The dark material only made him look paler than usual, but at the same time it highlighted the sheer power of his build. 

“We can start with your upper body, but I’ll need to take measurements without your trousers on as well,” Fisk said politely when it looked like Dracula might stop stripping.

Dracula didn’t even hesitate. He just kicked his shoes off and opened his pants, not a shred of self-consciousness in his movements. In moments he was standing in the room dressed only in black, thin silk undergarments that strained to keep all of him contained. 

Eskel turned his eyes away, feeling warmth creep up on his neck, too aware of the fact he was staring.

“...Father,” Alucard said in the oddest tone of voice, like he really wanted to sound chiding but couldn’t quite make himself.

Dracula raised his eyebrows at his son and stared at him for a long moment, before he huffed out a breath through his nose and turned to Fisk.

“Those, too?” He mentioned to his underwear.

“Whatever sir is most comfortable with,” Fisk said politely. “But my measurements should be accurate with or without them.” 

“As you wish.” Dracula shrugged, so obviously comfortable in his skin that it didn't even occur to him to feel embarrassed by the audience.

Witchers in general weren’t terribly body shy, but Dracula’s personal confidence was impressive even to Eskel. 

Fisk fished out a measuring tape and began measuring various parts of Dracula’s body with brisk efficiency. As he worked he made small, approving sounds. 

“You keep in very good shape, Mr. Belmont,” Fisk said a few minutes into his work. “It will be a pleasure to build something that will show off your considerable charms.”

Even where he was, Eskel could tell Fisk was dead serious about his praise. He could see the way his eyes lingered on Dracula’s shoulders even after he finished measuring what seemed like every muscle there.

“I look forward to seeing what you come up with.” There was an interesting tone to Dracula’s words. A pleased quality that Eskel couldn’t quite put his finger on.

Fisk continued his measuring. “Much of the work I am hired for requires that I creatively cover up what many men think are unattractive traits. Seldom am I privileged enough to work with men for whom all I need do is properly showcase their natural assets. I am very pleased that today has been filled with such privilege.”

Eskel started, as he realized that Fisk was, well, not flirting, but definitely complimenting Dracula more than a tailor usually would.

“The sheer power of your frame is an exciting challenge to take on.” Fisk was steadily working down Dracula’s body with the tape, jotting down the numbers on a small notepad. “So few men in this day and age know what it means to be a man anymore.”

Eskel felt his skin prickle, his senses picking up new tension in the room. He turned to look at Alucard, and realized that the younger vampire was staring at Fisk with worrying intensity. It took a moment or two for him to realize that he wasn’t the only one who caught onto the steady stream of almost flirting, and the way Dracula very clearly enjoyed it.

Alucard noticed too.

...And seemed jealous as hell.

At the same time, Eskel was reminded again of how complimentary Fisk had been towards him. It wasn’t really flirting in the standard way. Fisk obviously didn’t expect anything, or even want anything. He was simply expressing his admiration. There was no reason for Alucard to be worried; he'd realize that when nothing more than a few compliments happened.

For himself, Eskel knew that he seldom got such attention. He had to wonder if Dracula was in the same boat. Probably. 

It was the sheer harmlessness and honesty of Fisk’s commentary that made Eskel want to do something. He found he liked the older gentleman and, oddly enough, wanted to give him something nice to look at. 

Not like flirting. It was just that Fisk looked at him and Dracula like they were beautiful sculptures. Maybe he would like it if Eskel stood a little closer. No doubt Dracula would do what he always did and take advantage of the close space. That action would paint a very nice image for Fisk.

But what to do? Showing off in a way that didn’t involve trying to scare someone to death was not something Eskel was used to. At all. He’d probably be terrible at it. But Fisk hadn’t minded his gruff manner so far. There was also the worry of encouraging Dracula too much. Eskel still had to have a chat with him, preferably in private, about the possibility of sex at some point in the future. Maybe far in the future.

Eskel mulled the idea over as Dracula continued to get measured. 

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suuuuugar baaaaaaby time...
> 
> Fisk gets home to his husband that night and is like, "Omg honey the sexy, beautiful men I got to see today, you would not even imagine. Such beef. Very wow."


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes from Quarra: Eyyyyyy everyone. Here it is. I just wanted to tell you all how _deeply deeply grateful_ both xan and I are for all your wonderful comments and your continued readership. I don't really have a lot of mental energy to do much lately, my brain is kind of kicking my ass, but I treasure every single comment, even if I don't muster up the spoons to respond. I will continue to try to do so, because seriously folks, they give me life. Thank you.

Alucard stared. He knew he was staring; he couldn't help it, though. 

The old tailor, Mr. Fisk, who Alucard had always respected as being incredibly professional, was doing his best to seduce his Father! He was paying Dracula compliments. About his build, his charms, his _assets_. 

And his Father was all but glowing under the attention, going so far as to compliment Fisk back, which was all but unheard of. Dracula usually despised humans, so this pleasure he radiated was an undeniable proof of how much he liked Fisk.

Eskel wasn’t helping matters either. Alucard noticed the good energy between Eskel and Fisk and was all for it, as it eased some tension out of the witcher. 

But now Eskel had clearly decided to take part in the strange dance going on between the two men. Alucard did his best to keep his face cool as jealousy ate at him. All the while, Eskel _innocently_ picked up Dracula’s discarded clothes. 

If that wasn’t enough, then Eskel helped Dracula back into his shirt after the measuring was done. They stood so close together, too. Eskel in his new and well fitted clothes with fabrics that showed off every little detail of how his muscles played when they moved, and Dracula, half dressed at best and practically preening with pleasure. 

It made such a pretty view. A view that should be reserved only for Alucard. And maybe Geralt. Definitely nobody else.

It was also a view that Fisk was so obviously enjoying. Quietly, yes. He was too polite to say very much about it. But he was very clearly sighing with delight. 

Alucard’s eyes _burned_. 

It didn’t help one bit that the latent bond with Eskel still ached inside of Alucard’s mind like a sore tooth. Seeing him in those very snug clothes, feeling how soft they were, and watching how confident and dangerous Eskel looked in them…it made Alucard itch to touch him. 

The world spun for a heartbeat when Eskel walked into the room, and it just kept happening. Every time Eskel was out of sight for a moment, when he came back Alucard was stunned all over again. 

Knowing that Fisk was watching Eskel and Dracula both and being similarly stunned was enough to make Alucard’s stomach turn and his jaw ache. 

He wanted to say something. Maybe drag Eskel away or make a comment that pulled Dracula’s attention back to where it should be. 

But…

Alucard could see how genuinely pleased both Eskel and Dracula were by the subtle commentary and honest admiration. As much as it made Alucard want to growl, he liked seeing them happy a little bit more than he wanted the chatter to stop.

Again he cursed the fact that he would never be able to mark Dracula up. Eskel, though. That had potential. 

Even though Eskel was already covered with his Father’s teeth marks. Which also made Alucard twitch a little. 

Why, exactly, he wasn’t quite sure. He and Dracula certainly never got this way over Geralt. But there was also no uncertainty with Geralt. He was both of theirs, a position he relished. It was hard to see exactly how Eskel would choose to act with them, though from Alucard’s conversation with him earlier in the week it seemed possible that Eskel might want to be more involved with both Dracula and Alucard. 

There was a small fear that grew inside of Alucard that this possessiveness was a side effect of the bond between him and Eskel, or from the sheer amount of Dracula’s power he’d consumed earlier. He couldn’t be sure, and it bothered him. Had he always had this possessive streak and it simply never came up before now?

Perhaps. After all, he’d had a few moments like this when he’d met some of Geralt’s former lovers. 

It took impressive will, but Alucard kept his teeth tightly shut. 

When Geralt was wheeled in, Alucard didn’t know whether to growl or cry with relief. It was near the tail end of the tailoring appointment, and Fisk was just packing up his things. Dracula had finally gotten dressed again and Eskel sat perched on the arm of his chair. 

Interestingly, Dr. Miller had come along with Geralt and Matt. Hopefully that was because he had good news. 

Before anyone else could touch Geralt, Alucard was already by the bed ready to help him back into it. Fisk may have sweet talked his way into Dracula and Eskel’s good graces, a fact that _still_ both astonished and infuriated Alucard, but he hadn’t yet had a chance to get to Geralt. 

Geralt must have been able to sense something was off, because he raised his eyebrows in surprise at Alucard’s instant assistance. Whatever he was thinking he wisely kept to himself, though.

That pleased Alucard just fine. There were far too many people around. It felt so strange to be surrounded by so many in such a personal setting. He’d gotten used to Dracula, Geralt, and Eskel being close and intimate with him, and to a certain extent the others at Kaer Morhen, too. But having humans around as well was throwing him off. 

So instead he focused on making Geralt comfortable and making sure the witcher was wrapped up in things bearing his scent. A few nice pillows to lean on and a good blanket to rest over his legs were just the thing. 

Whatever tests they’d run had visibly worn him out. His shoulders drooped a little and there was the faint scent of sweat and exhaustion on him. Despite all that, Geralt still looked awake and interested. An encouraging sign.

By the time Alucard had gotten Geralt settled, Fisk was on his way out. That pleased Alucard just fine. 

The tailor gave them all a polite nod and then was gone. 

Finally.

“You look nice, Eskel,” Geralt said. “Comfortable.”

A light dusting of pink hit Eskel’s cheeks and he waved Geralt off. “Yeah, yeah.”

Alucard bit back a growl, remembering that Fisk had to have his hands all over Eskel to make those clothes. 

“Iga.” Geralt let out a short, low whistle. “That is impressive.”

She preened at him, arching up a little from the sprawl she was in on one of the bedside chairs. 

Dr. Miller looked around the room with some resignation. He had on his doctor’s jacket and had a clipboard and folder in hand; Geralt’s chart and records no doubt. “I have news. How many of you should be here to hear it?”

At this point there was a small crowd, Alucard noted with some surprise. Even with Fisk gone, there were still the witchers, Dracula, Iga, the doctor, and John and Matt in the room.

How had this become normal? It wasn’t so long ago that Alucard could expect nothing but silence in this room. But now for the first time in Alucard’s memory, the furniture in his luxurious and spacious apartment bedroom seemed to be filled.

“Doesn’t matter,” Geralt said, leaning forward a little with obvious eagerness. “They’ll all find out anyways. Tell me the results.”

Dr. Miller just nodded like he expected this, and flipped open his folder.

“Alright. Big stuff first. All the bones look to be healing well. Most of the fractures are barely visible now and the breaks are healing well. They all set properly, which is a minor miracle considering how badly I know you wanted to be up and around.” Dr. Miller paused to give Geralt a knowing look. “Splints still need to stay on. _Especially_ on that foot! There are lots of very tiny bones in there and they do not react well to stress. Future mobility could be extremely damaged if they heal wrong. Watch those ribs, too. Your torso took a lot of damage. Any swelling or stress on the ribs is going to slow down the recovery of your internal organs and invite complications.”

Geralt nodded along impatiently, waving his hand in a little circle as if to speed the doctor up.

That just earned him a flat glare and an extra long pause. Alucard held back a snort. Clearly, Dr. Miller had Geralt’s number. 

“As for soft tissue damage, your lacerations and punctures are healing up well, too. We’ve already taken off some of the bandaging on the smaller, more isolated wounds.” Now he glared at Geralt again. “Bandaging on your torso stays. We’ll keep to the same cleaning and pain management regimen that we’ve been doing. Which brings us to your internal organs. Ultrasounds came back cautiously positive. There is still visible damage on your kidneys, liver, stomach, and digestive tract. Your lungs look _better_, but they got off light to begin with. Blood panels are still giving back signs of several unknown toxins, and your various hormone levels still indicate a great deal of physical stress.”

There was a long pause as everyone stared at Dr. Miller. He looked around the room, one eyebrow raised, as if massively unimpressed with the anticipitory silence. Then he turned his attention back to Geralt, who had leaned forward just a little bit more.

“Well?” Geralt asked.

Dr. Miller closed his eyes and sighed like his soul was being ripped out. 

“I am giving you my _very conditional_ approval to have sex---”

“_Yes!_” Geralt pumped his fist into the air.

“---But!” Dr. Miller pointed at him and gave him a stern look. “But there are strict conditions!”

“Sounds great,” Geralt said, grinning like mad. 

“First. Receiving anal sex is alright but only if you are very careful and very, very gentle. Your anus and rectum are intact, but don’t go spelunking in there. Your intestinal tract took a lot of damage. Nothing large or long enough to get into your colon, and while lube is good, no enemas. There’s been enough strain on your system already and too much of any fluid will only cause more upset.”

Geralt nodded seriously, looking like a particularly attentive and eager student. “So that means fingering is alright too?”

“Again, if you’re gentle. Nothing too large.” Dr. Miller closed his eyes and sighed. “Do I have to go into detail about how large is ‘too large’, or do you have enough sense to figure that out?”

“Er.” Geralt blinked in mild confusion. “Maybe?” He scratched at the growing stubble on his chin.

Eskel covered his face with one hand and said, “If you can’t stick it in a virgin without making him or her cry, don’t do it.”

“...With proper preparation---” Geralt started.

“No.” Eskel glared at him. “Nothing bigger than four fingers.”

Geralt narrowed his eyes again, clearly evaluating something in his mind. He tapped his fingers on the bedspread and hummed to himself. Then he looked at his own hand and furrowed his brows and hummed deeper.

“I swear to the Gods if you re-injure yourself because you took too much too soon---” Eskel opened his mouth for a moment, and then glared harder. “I’ll tell Ciri and Lambert and they can laugh at you ‘til the end of time.”

“But if they’re particularly _large_ fingers…” Geralt said slowly. He glanced from side to side for a moment, then leaned in a bit towards Eskel. “I mean, you _know_ my dilemma here. What do you think? Too much?”

Eskel looked like he wanted to strangle someone. Possibly himself. He rolled his eyes hard and stared up at the ceiling for a moment, and rubbed his face. “I really don’t.” Before Geralt could argue that point, Eskel raised a finger at him to silence him. “But I get what you’re saying. Just…” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Only one at a time. Use lots of oil. Tell your lovers to watch for signs of distress. They should have a vested interest in keeping your ass safe.”

Alucard appreciated Eskel’s discretion. He was sure that most of the humans here already assumed that Geralt was Dracula’s lover, but so far he didn’t think anyone had caught on that he was Alucard’s lover as well. That didn’t stop Alucard from needing to smother a smirk at Eskel’s grumpiness. Dracula didn’t even bother to hide his amusement, and Iga was outright snickering. John and Matt both just looked a little stunned.

“I have to concur with your friend here,” Dr. Miller said sternly. “No more than---” He cleared his throat. “One lover at a time. With breaks!”

Geralt sighed, but nodded. 

“Next. Oral sex is alright, but no cutting off your breathing, even for a short amount of time. _I mean it_. Penetrative sex...” Here, Dr. Miller sighed again. “I am very hesitant to green light any of this, mind you, but at this point in your healing you’re unlikely to be in danger of clotting. However, you are still very weak and very fragile. So, while technically penetrative sex would be fine, it has to be done in a way that doesn’t put any additional strain on your body. _Especially_ on your torso or your broken bones. No stress at all on that incision or those ribs. It would be very easy to re-injure yourself. So watch what position you’re in.”

“I promise,” Geralt said earnestly. 

“How long?” Eskel asked out of the blue.

Alucard immediately figured out what Eskel was asking and held back a snort of amusement. From the furtive, quelling glare Geralt shot Eskel, he’d figured it out too.

“Pardon?” Dr. Miller asked, turning to him.

“How long can he have sex before getting cut off.” Eskel was leaning on a table with his arms crossed, a position that managed somehow to make his pants tighten even more obscenely across his thighs and groin. The way his shirt pulled at his arms made them seem even larger, too. It was extremely difficult to look away from, though eventually Alucard was able to. “Witchers have great stamina, even in bed. We can last a very long time and this one,” Eskel pointed at Geralt, “has been known to go at it until he’s passed out. More than once.”

Dr. Miller’s jaw dropped, and he was not the only one. John also looked like someone smacked the back of his head with a board. Matt just looked up at the ceiling. Praying for strength perhaps.

Alucard, on the other hand, was remembering a few of those times. With relish. The feel of Geralt quivering, trembling between him and Dracula. Every soft little sound. The scent of their power mixed with come and sweat, salty, bitter, and sweet. Pleasure so intense that it had mingled with pain and blotted out every other sense. 

From the smug looks on both Dracula and Geralt’s faces, they were thinking of the same thing. 

“Mmmm. Witchers are really good,” Iga said in a low purr. Eskel grinned at her knowingly.

It took a moment, but Dr. Miller gathered himself up and plastered a flat, unsurprised look on his face. “Of course,” he said with a sigh. “I cannot believe I’m limiting the amount of sex someone can have only a few days after full body surgery, but here we are.” He blinked hard and then looked to Geralt again. “No erections for longer than an hour. Take at least a half hour break in between orgasms, and no more than...I don’t know, five, in twenty four hours. If you hit this limit, let us know and the next day we’ll come by to check you over and make sure nothing was damaged.”

“Spoil sport,” Geralt grumbled, but he still looked pretty pleased.

“Also, _no passing out due to sex_. If you start to feel dizzy, woozy, if your vision starts to spot, stop immediately. Same if your heart starts to beat erratically.” Dr. Miller rolled his eyes. “I feel like I shouldn’t need to say this, but I will anyways. If you’re in pain, stop. If you start bleeding anywhere, stop. If you think something might, maybe, cause you pain or some other type of distress, don’t do it. Err on the side of caution now and you’ll be all set for days of sex later.”

“Yes, sir.” Geralt was back to grinning now. 

Dr. Miller twisted his lips. “Why do I feel like I should have a nanny watch you anyway?”

“Why do you think I’m here?” Eskel grumbled. Immediately he realized what he said and smacked his face with his hand. “No. That’s not what I meant! I’m not here to--- I mean---” He sighed and hid his face in his hands. “I am so terrible at speaking why do I even bother.”

Alucard made sure not to look at his Father, already knowing the thoughts that would be written on his face. Eskel really did sometimes just put himself in those situations all by himself. No wonder his Father loved teasing him.

“Aw, honey, you have other talents,” Iga purred. 

Geralt snickered and then looked at Dr. Miller. “I’ll consider a spotter.”

Dr. Miller just sighed and shook his head. 

“Provided you don’t do anything inadvisable, you should see a rapid increase in form in the next two to three days, if we take your unbelievable healing speed into consideration. It seems now that the life threatening injuries are mostly taken care of, the results should be more visible to you.”

“That is excellent news,” Dracula said, his raspy voice cutting through the room.

“Anything else?” Eskel asked.

Dr. Miller shook his head. “That’s about it.” He looked at Geralt one last time. “Try to get some rest. Please.”

Then he nodded to the rest of them and took himself out of the room. Alucard, and likely everyone else with enhanced hearing, could hear him breathing out swear words as he walked out.

“You heard the man,” Eskel said. “Let’s give Geralt some rest. John, Matt, Iga?” He motioned towards the door. “Care to come join me in a game of cards?”

“Sir?” Matt looked to Alucard.

“Leave us.” Alucard looked to John then back to Matt. “I’m a little tired of having so many people around. I will appreciate a little time to catch up with Geralt and my Father.”

“Of course.” Matt nodded at Alucard and then turned back to the rest of the room, quickly assuming the role of a shepherd dog. He got Iga out of her chair by offering her a polite elbow. 

Alucard couldn't help but admire Matt’s efficiency. In less than half a minute the room was mostly empty, with Eskel bringing up the rear of the parade of people leaving the room.

“Eskel,” Geralt called before the other witcher was fully out the door.

“Yeah?” Eskel stepped back, letting the door close behind Matt. It was now only the two witchers, Alucard, and Dracula in the room.

“Maybe you could give me a Swallow?” Geralt had the gall to make cow eyes at Eskel, pretending to look like a small, beaten puppy.

“No,” Eskel said, glaring at him. He held up his forefinger, as if counting off something. “First, you still smell like poison. I’m not giving you anything that’s going to make that worse.” He held up a second finger. “Also, I only have one left. Turns out I’ve used more than I expected to while here.” Then he gave Dracula a flat look. 

Dracula didn’t even pretend to look guilty, instead he pressed his thumb to his lips and very obviously smirked.

“Good use of alchemy,” he said, very clearly wanting to rile Eskel up. 

Eskel just continued to give him the flattest, most unimpressed look. 

“But,” Geralt tried again, but without much hope of success.

“_No._ Be lucky you’re getting laid at all.” Eskel cast a furtive look back and forth between Dracula and Alucard, and then clenched his jaw. He gave Geralt one more glare and turned back towards the door. “Have fun. Text me if you need something that you can’t ask the humans for.”

“Is it so obvious?” Geralt asked, a smile creeping up on his lips.

Eskel just laughed as he left. The door cut off the sounds of his chuckles when it closed behind him. Mild disappointment ran through Alucard, but that was irrational. He knew Eskel wouldn’t stay in the room with them for this. Not yet, anyways. Then he wanted to groan because when exactly did he buy into his Father’s absolute conviction that Eskel would end up as their lover?

“Yes,” Dracula said getting up from his chair. “I have been very patient.” His fingers went to his shirt and started unbuttoning it slowly.

Geralt laughed out loud.

“You call that patient?” He was still snickering. “Poor Eskel took the brunt of your _patience_.”

“He enjoyed it.” Dracula smirked and threw his shirt onto a chair.

Alucard knew that Dracula could just disintegrate his clothes; they were made of his power just like his armored coat was. For whatever reason, he chose to undress himself. Alucard had to admit that he enjoyed the view of Dracula’s pale chest slowly being revealed, as if it was done just for their pleasure.

It was obvious Geralt was enjoying the view, too. His eyes were glued to Dracula’s chest. As Dracula stepped closer, Geralt licked his lips.

“I have been deprived for long enough,” Dracula said. His gaze swept across Geralt’s reclining form and then slid to Alucard. 

“Deprived?” Alucard laughed, thinking of that time they had unexpected sex in a hospital bathroom, of all places, and with Eskel and Ciri just behind the flimsy door. Then there was the time in the castle when Alucard woke Dracula up. Or that time in the portal room. 

Alucard frowned. “Wait.” He ran through the memories again. “You’ve had sex every day, almost, since Geralt’s been out of commission.”

“Not quite,” Dracula replied with faux offence. 

Geralt turned to Alucard. “You're kidding. Every day?”

“There were a few days where he was sleeping,” Alucard said dryly. 

“See? It wasn’t every day,” Dracula said with a smile.

“And how many of those days did you feed on Eskel?” Alucard raised an eyebrow at him.

Dracula shrugged and walked closer. 

“I was in need of comfort.” He did not sound distressed at all. He did, however, look very hungry as he stopped just in front of Alucard. “Let’s make sure Geralt has something nice to look at,” he rumbled, reaching out to touch Alucard’s face.

“Yes,” Alucard rasped out. His throat was suddenly dry. Finally he’d get a chance to touch both his lovers again. “Let me take out my…” He waved at his eyes. 

It only took a moment to get the contacts out. He was too used to the process by this point. As he worked, Dracula drifted closer, crowding into him until Alucard could feel the heat radiating off of his body. Finally, he got the lenses into the jar of fluid he kept in his jacket pocket, and set it on the table next to the bed.

“There are those beautiful eyes,” Dracula hummed quietly at him. He put a hand on Alucard’s jaw and brought him closer, until their lips nearly touched. “Lovely, and all mine.”

The kiss started slow. A gentle tease that slowly deepened into a wet caress. Dracula’s hands were already in Alucard’s hair, tilting his head for better access as he slowly fucked in with his tongue. Alucard couldn’t help but moan. He clung to Dracula’s powerful shoulders and kneaded. 

God, but he loved this. Loved the way Dracula just took possession and so clearly enjoyed his spoils.

“Undress me,” Dracula said quietly, breaking the kiss and breathing warm air over Alucard’s wet lips. He took Alucard’s wrists, and guided Alucard’s hands to his pants.

“Do you want me on my knees when I do it?” Alucard asked, pitching the voice more for Geralt’s benefit than his Father’s.

“Fuck,” Geralt whispered quietly. “Yes, please.” His voice was already rough with want and pleasure, and the scent of his arousal curled through the room. 

Alucard suddenly realized that for the first time his bed here would have the scent of all of them on it. Their sweat and come on the sheets and their heat radiating off of the fine fabrics. How many times had he lain here and wished he could have his lovers’ scents around him?

He pressed his lips to his Father’s cheek, and then to his neck, mouthing his way down slowly. He gently bit at the strong muscle of Dracula’s shoulder and lipped down the powerful pectoral until he could lick at a dark, flat nipple. Dracula’s hands tangled in his hair and pulled it up and out of the way, possibly to get it out of Alucard’s way but likely just to get a better view of the action. Blunt nails scratched gently at Alucard’s scalp, awakening shivers that travelled all the way down his back.

Alucard licked his way down that powerful chest, paying homage to each and every muscle. He worked until he was down on his knees with his hands wrapped around Dracula’s hips for leverage.

Then he looked up, making sure to catch Dracula’s eyes. He licked at the bit of skin just above Dracula’s waistband, up to Dracula’s belly button, before putting his teeth to work. 

Alucard thought back to when Geralt had first stumbled into their lives, and that scorchingly hot blowjob in the throne room. At the time, Geralt had advised him to go slow, to show off his teeth to his Father. Over the past several months that advice had served Alucard well. Hopefully today would be no exception. 

Alucard did his best to catch Dracula’s skin in his mouth, licking, nibbling, and lightly sucking until he felt Dracula’s muscles flinching in reaction.

“Alucard,” Dracula breathed, low and raspy. His fingers tightened in Alucard’s hair and pulled in the most delicious way.

Alucard reached for the buttons and opened Dracula’s slacks. He let them fall down, exposing Dracula’s thick, muscular legs and the thin silk underwear that was already losing the battle to contain Dracula’s growing cock. He pressed his lips to the shape visible there under the silk and sucked hard. As he sucked, he pressed his tongue against the head, wetting the silk as much as he could. Dracula and Geralt both moaned in unison and Alucard could feel Dracula’s cock twitch under his mouth.

He pulled back, hot and panting from the closeness and the promise of sex. Dracula’s legs were smooth and firm. It was impossible not to run his fingers down them. He skimmed each curve of that burningly warm skin until he reached the bunched-up cloth around his Father’s ankles. A little tug was all it took to urge Dracula to lift his leg so that Alucard could free him of his slacks.

It probably wasn’t necessary to bend down more to help free the bunched cloth, but Alucard was pleased to have the excuse to press his lips to the thick swell of Dracula’s thigh. That sweet little kiss pulled a loud gasp out of Geralt and Alucard could feel another curl of heat travel low to his groin. 

He loved this. Loved touching Dracula, feeling his skin and drawing in his scent and warmth. But he also loved the obvious reaction his actions pulled out of his lovers. It made him want to show off more. 

Alucard pressed his face to Dracula’s hip briefly and closed his eyes, just to enjoy the closeness for a moment. Then he tugged at Dracula’s other leg, urging him to pull it up. When his Father obeyed the tug, Alucard bent down again and lipped over the tensed muscle of Dracula’s thigh as he pulled the pants away entirely. 

Once Dracula was free from the soft, black cloth, Alucard wrapped his hands around Dracula’s legs and went back to the silk underwear, mouthing over his sharply delineated cock. 

He closed his eyes and let the scent there fill his nose, the musk, the unmistakable aroma of sex and the smoky, burning embers scent underneath it all. He licked and sucked until the silk was soaking wet and Dracula’s cock grew enough that the head poked out a bit over the waistband. The sight of it was so unbelievably sexy, so alluring. It begged to be lavished with attention, and Alucard found himself unable to deny them both the pleasure. He raised himself more on his knees and got his lips around the exposed tip, sucking the faint taste of precome right off of it even as he started pulling the underwear down.

Dracula said nothing, but Alucard could hear his breathing, louder and less controlled than before. Alucard sucked at the hard flesh even as he dragged the flimsy underwear off completely. He had no idea where his Father came up with the idea for it, but he had to admit that he liked it very much. He sucked harder, aching to take that cock deeper. 

He felt a tug.

The hand in his hair pulled him up, away from his prize, and he groaned in complaint. Dracula didn’t give up and Alucard was forced to climb up from his knees, letting go of Dracula’s hard cock. He did manage a few wet licks to that wonderfully powerful chest as he stood, before Dracula was kissing him again.

There was a faint prickle against Alucard’s scalp as Dracula’s hand grew claws, and he felt his Father’s powerful grip slid down towards his shoulders.

“No,” Alucard said, pulling back a little. “I like this suit. You are not shredding it off of me.”

Dracula chuckled.

“You sure?” The claws came back to his neck, skittering gently over his skin.

Alucard’s eyes fluttered shut and he heard Geralt’s breath hitch in his throat. He leaned in, just a little, and then strengthened his resolve. 

“No shredding. I don’t need another fitting,” Alucard said sourly. There was still a lingering bit of jealousy crawling up his spine as he thought about Dracula and Eskel both glowing quietly under Fisk’s praise. They should only glow for Alucard, nobody else.

Maybe Geralt, too.

“Oh, my Son,” Dracula said in a low growl. A small predatory smile stretched across his lips. He put his hand on Alucard’s neck and pulled him in close. “Did you see something that frustrated you?”

“You know perfectly well what happened,” Alucard muttered, pushing his jacket off his shoulders before Dracula lost whatever shred of patience he managed to retain.

“What happened?” Geralt asked. He was stretched out on the bed with one hand pressing firmly against his cock.

“All his pleased murmurs and not very subtle showing off at Fisk.” Alucard threw the jacket away and started on the cuffs of his shirt. “And Fisk!” he said, feeling outraged again even when the logical part of his brain knew it was ridiculous. “The old man was so sweet with the, ‘what wonderful shoulders you have, never have I ever seen such a wonderful chest!’” 

Alucard finished the cuffs and started unbuttoning the shirt, careful not to tear off the buttons. 

“And Eskel too! I saw him preen just as much as my Father did!” He pushed the shirt off his shoulders and threw it to the floor, mind full of the images from the fitting. Both Dracula and Eskel preening under the attention, presenting their best assets to the old tailor.

Dracula’s hands smoothed over Alucard’s sides, pulling him in close. One drifted down to dip into the back of his pants and the other tilted Alucard’s chin so he was looking Dracula right in the eyes. Eyes that burned bright red with emotion.

“Son. Alucard,” Dracula growled happily into his lips, so close they were almost kissing, but not quite. “There was not a hint of desire on him. His words weren’t empty flattery, his appreciation sincere, but that’s all they were. Words. Nothing more.” Now a hint of a smile showed on his lips and his eyes crinkled a little. “So as much as I enjoy this display of possessiveness from you, there is no cause for concern.”

“I’m not concerned!” Alucard huffed, then he put his hands on Dracula’s hips and pulled them closer. “You are mine, and nobody can touch you but me!”

“Er,” Geralt chimed in from the bed. “You sure about that, lover?”

Dracula wasn’t even trying to hide the fact he was laughing.

Alucard’s face burned. He rested his forehead against Dracula’s shoulder, hiding the blush.

“No one other than previously approved people, at least,” he muttered into his Father’s skin, feeling the unreasonable fight leave him.

“Should we not look our best for you?” Dracula said, eyes wide with fake innocence. “And who better to make something that looks perfect on us than someone who deeply appreciates our appearances?”

“You just like riling me up,” Alucard grumbled, but he wasn’t really upset, just irritable and possessive. 

Dracula let out a small laugh and dragged his nails up Alucard’s back, lightly scratching him.

“It is an unreasonable amount of fun,” he admitted. 

“Fun!” Geralt snorted in laughter and shook his head. “I’m sorry I missed it, though it’s interesting that Eskel was joining in on that, too. He did seem to like the old man.” He shrugged, then let his eyes drag down Alucard and Dracula’s bodies. “Come a little closer to me, lovers. I want to have some fun, too.”

Dracula dragged his hands over Alucards ribs, down to his waist.

“You better hurry.” Dracula let the tips of his claws touch Alucard’s skin. “Or an unfortunate accident could happen to your suit after all.”

“Accident, huh?” Alucard laughed but obediently started unbuttoning his fly. 

All he managed to do was get his pants and his shoes off before Dracula’s hands tightened on his waist. A small yelp escaped him as he was thrown onto the bed, landing in range of Geralt’s reach but not actually touching.

He bounced once before Dracula was on top of him, his thick thighs straddling Alucard’s legs. Dracula put those clawed fingers against Alucard’s sensible black boxers and hooked them under the band.

“I hope you are not as attached to your underwear as you are to your suit.” The thin cotton gave easily under those wickedly sharp points. There was barely a sound as the garment fell apart. Alucard sucked his belly in and stayed very, very still with all those claws so close to his vulnerable bits.

There was a soft little groan behind him and he felt Geralt’s hand on his head, gently teasing through his hair. 

“So fucking pretty,” Geralt whispered, low and needy. There was a little bit of shuffling behind him and soon Geralt’s hand trailed down the shell of his ear, over his jaw, and then spread out across his throat. “I missed touching you.”

His fingers grazed right across where Alucard’s pulse beat, and just for a moment he tightened his grip. It wasn’t anywhere near enough to cause Alucard any distress, but it was firm and sure. Something inside Alucard coiled up with shuddering pleasure at the implied claim in that movement. Heat coiled tightly in his belly, his cock twitching and growing as his mouth went dry. As much as he wanted to squirm, Dracula’s claws were still at his groin, delicately trailing over his sensitive flesh. He didn’t dare move, and that forced stillness only stroked the heat higher.

Geralt trailed his hand lower, spreading it across Alucard’s chest, the furthest he could touch without moving his body. 

“Come closer.” His voice was rough and quiet. “I want to touch you, gods, it’s been _so long_.”

As much as Alucard wanted to tease Geralt about it only being a week or two, he felt the same way. He knew damn well that Dracula was feeling the lack, too, though it was true that Dracula had taken his frustrations out on Eskel in the meantime. The poor therapy witcher looked like he’d been mauled nearly every day. 

For whatever reason, seeing those bruises on Eskel today had made Alucard want to cover them up with marks of his own. To press his teeth into every place his Father had and make it _his_ teeth marks that decorated Eskel’s skin. That spark of unexpected possessiveness only added to the already burning need for his lovers that had been smoldering for days now. It made him all the more desperate to touch someone and to be touched in return. 

“Please,” Alucard rasped through his dry throat, looking pleadingly up at Dracula.

“You going to make it a show for me?” Dracula asked, dragging his teasing claws to the side, leaving tiny pinpricks over Alucard’s hip before moving lower, over his thigh. “All pretty and hot, showing me how well you can move, how good you are at giving pleasure?” Dracula’s voice was low and raspy, his slight accent making the words all the hotter.

Geralt’s questing fingers found Alucard’s nipple and slid over the rapidly hardening nub, tugging firmly enough Alucard was choking on a moan in no time flat.

“Yeah,” Geralt growled into Alucard’s ear. “Pretty wolf, I want to see how you fuck, how you strain to move above me.” Each word was punctuated by a tug at his nipple and Alucard lost the fight with keeping still. He squirmed, reaching for Geralt. 

“I will,” he promised. “I’ll be so good.” He shivered at the firm press of Dracula’s claws against the inside of his thighs. “Please.”

Dracula leaned down and pressed his lips against Alucard’s cheek, then his neck, and finally gave Alucard’s other nipple a firm bite and tug. Alucard gasped, arching his chest into the shock of sensation.

“Show off for me,” Dracula said, sliding away and giving Alucard space to move.

Alucard didn’t waste any time. He eeled onto his side and then over Geralt, crawling on all fours. His hair fell forward. It was already mostly free of the braid that he’d unfastened when he was changing, and the long strands slid gently along Geralt’s pale, bandaged chest.

Alucard’s cock was hard and wet at the tip already as he dragged it over Geralt’s skin. The move made them both gasp and shudder. 

He lowered his lips, kissing Geralt like he’d wanted to for a long time. Hot and wet, he licked into Geralt’s warm mouth and invited him to play with him. He sucked at Geralt’s tongue, urging him to take control, to take over. 

Geralt caught on fast. His hands closed on Alucard’s head, tugging at his messy hair to position him for better access. Then he kissed him. _Hard_. Alucard moaned into it and did his best to rub his cock over the little bit of exposed skin on Geralt’s belly and groin. He could feel the nudge of Geralt’s hardness on his ass and inner thigh as he moved, hot and tempting. 

When he felt Geralt take one hand away from his hair and slide it between their bodies, he gasped into the kiss, making sure to brace himself on the bed above Geralt’s shoulders. Then Geralt’s hand was closing around both of their cocks, pressing them together and Alucard had to break the kiss to moan right over Geralt’s lips. It felt so good, so damn good. Geralt’s firm hold pressing both of them together. Shocks of pleasure curled down Alucard’s groin, making his balls tight and sensitive.

“Move,” Geralt panted. His lips were so close that they brushed Alucard’s. His other big hand spanned the side of Alucard’s face, holding him in place. “Move, lover, show me what you’ve got.”

Alucard’s hair kept the scent of them locked in place, like a tiny pocket universe where they were the only ones alive. The scent of Geralt’s sweat, his breath, and his body filled Alucard’s nose, sinking him deeper into desire. 

He braced his hands on the bed, pressing his wrists down into Geralt’s shoulders to give them another point of contact. Then he undulated his body, slowly fucking his hips into Geralt’s fist. 

Alucard loved this. Loved the drag of Geralt’s calluses, loved how wet his grip became as precome slicked the way. The contrast of those rough fingers and Geralt’s silky smooth, hard cock sliding next to his own was enough to make Alucard’s eyes roll back. He closed his eyes and moaned as he rutted shamelessly.

“That’s right,” Geralt whispered, harsh and low. “Fuck yes.” Geralt’s voice was as wrecked as Alucard felt. “Like that, fuck, _faster_.” 

Geralt was gasping, too. His fist tightened, causing sparks of pleasure to race through Alucard’s body. 

Every time Alucard thrust forward, Geralt rubbed the very crown of their cocks, swiping over the tender skin there with a firm, callused finger. It urged Alucard on faster, harder, to get that extra spike of pleasure at the peak of every move. He dug one hand into the soft pillows beneath them, willing all of his tension there rather than in the hand on Geralt’s shoulder. Everything was hot and tight and wet; he had to keep moving. He _needed_ it. The little gasps coming from Geralt, whispered into his mouth, only drove him more mad for it. 

He could feel that pressure building, the heat and pleasure ramping up inside of him. So close. Without conscious thought, Alucard worked himself faster. There was only Geralt’s hands on him and the scent of sex and sweat and the taste of salt on their skin. 

Right as his hips began to stutter, as his breath caught tight in his chest, Geralt leaned up, closing the last shred of air between their lips and captured his mouth in a crushing kiss. The taste of his own blood filled his senses as Geralt bit down hard on his lower lip. That last little bit of pain merged with the pleasure and went straight to his cock, pushing him over the edge.

Sooner than he thought possible, he was coming all over them both, hot and good, so good. Alucard pressed into it, both with his hips and his mouth, in an attempt to devour every last bit of Geralt that he could. Pleasure crashed over him in waves as he rode out his release, still thrusting over and over again into Geralt’s eager grasp.

Geralt shuddered and moaned into their sealed mouths, and suddenly he was arching up into Alucard’s body. More wet heat spilled between them as Geralt came. He was writhing up into it, so much that Alucard had to force his hips down, grinding them into each other. Alucard kept thrusting, slower now, but with enough pressure to keep their bodies tightly together. He wanted to tease out every last bit of pleasure from them both.

The scent of them together was the best thing Alucard could think of. After everything that had happened, all the stress and pain and upset, Geralt was here and alive. Hot and wonderful under him, hand still tight around them both and mouth eager and open.

Their brutal kissing eased a bit as they both came down from the high of orgasming, but it was no less deep. Geralt licked into Alucard’s mouth like it was his favorite thing in the world to do. He had one hand tangled up in Alucard’s hair, keeping them close together. 

“I have missed you,” Geralt murmured, pressing their foreheads together. “I missed the scent of your skin, the taste of your sweat. I hated seeing you without being able to touch you.”

Alucard nodded, and let out a low whine. It was the same for him. Watching Geralt and Dracula move around his space and interact with his people and being unable to reach out and touch was torture at times. “You are a dreadful temptation,” Alucard said roughly. “You both are.”

Geralt released his hold on their softening cocks and then dragged his hand up over Alucard’s side. Not so incidentally spreading come all over him, rubbing in the scent of them both. Usually it was Dracula doing such things, but perhaps Geralt had finally gotten tired of his lovers not bearing his scent. 

“Such a pretty sight you two make,” Dracula murmured from beside them. He was stretched out on his side, head braced on his fist, unashamedly naked and aroused as he watched them. How much of a show he was actually getting was likely debatable, given how Alucard’s hair had sprawled all over. Then again, Dracula always did like making Alucard messy.

That made Geralt smile into Alucard’s lips, and he smoothed his hand up and down Alucard’s flank again. “I do aim to please.” He licked into Alucard’s mouth for a moment. “You in all your fancy clothes. Those pants.” He dug his fingers in. “I’m not the pretty one here. I think that’s all you.”

“I think you are both pretty,” Dracula murmured. “Definitely gave me a nice show.” He wrapped his hand around his cock and gave a lazy stroke. “I love watching you.”

Alucard had to smile at that. His Father did enjoy keeping an eye on what was his. With that in mind he shifted a little in place, showing off the curve of his ass a little more and tilting so his hair slid out of the way of the view, all while glancing to the side. “Should we put on more of a show for you? I could get Geralt ready for you. Though you might have to talk me through it,” he teased. 

Dracula’s eyes shifted to his ass, obligingly lingering there for long moments. “That does sound rather intriguing,” he said, then he dragged his eyes back to Geralt. “You sure you can handle another round?”

To his credit, Geralt actually paused a moment to think it over. “Yes, but...go slow.” He winced a little. “And mind the ribs. That was good, you keeping me from moving too much. It’s hard to stop myself.” A shiver passed through him, and the hand in Alucard’s hair tightened up in a most delightful way. “I hope you both appreciate just how much I’m trying to be good here.”

“You do have a tendency to ignore your injuries,” Alucard said quietly, his nose still full of their mixed scents. The tight grip on his hair made him feel wonderfully tingly, and heat was already building up in him again. 

“All the better to fuck you into a wall later,” Geralt growled out. “I can be patient for a little while. As much as I hate it.” His eyes flickered to Dracula. “You two interested in helping me behave in the meantime?” 

“I have been very patient,” Dracula murmured, shifting in place. “I think I deserve a reward.” 

He moved onto his hands and knees, and slowly prowled towards them. His eyes were fixed on Geralt’s, almost daring him to look away, but Geralt was too much of a hunter to let Dracula out of his sight.

“Oh yeah?” Geralt asked, his voice a little breathy. His lovely golden eyes had grown dark. Those slit pupil eyes were so unusual; Alucard found himself fascinated with them. So different than the burning glow of his Father’s eyes and the darkness of his own. 

“Don’t you think I deserve a taste too?” Dracula was close enough now he could drag his hand over Alucard’s back, down to Geralt’s hip, and then up to his still bandaged up chest.

“Yes.” The answer was soft and high, and Geralt was practically panting with need. “Yes, please.”

Geralt covered Dracula’s hand with his own, just for a moment. Then he reached over to trail his fingers down Dracula’s chest. 

Before he could get too far, Alucard caught his arm and pressed it into the bed. Not hard, and Geralt didn’t fight him at all. But it was enough that they both knew that Alucard was holding him in place. 

“Really?” Geralt asked, making a token tug at Alucard’s hold. “You going to torture me now?”

“Yes,” Alucard answered bluntly, nipping at Geralt’s neck. “Didn’t you say you were having trouble keeping still?”

Geralt laughed.

“Always knew too much talking would get me in trouble,” he said, arching his chest a little under Alucard.

Alucard hummed and trailed gentle nips down Geralt’s neck, deeply enjoying the way Geralt shifted his head to accommodate him. 

“You are very good at finding trouble,” Alucard agreed with his lips on the skin just above the bandages on his chest.

“Too good,” Dracula grumbled, dragging his fingers down Geralt’s side again. “There’s barely any skin for me to enjoy,” he complained. He slid his hand lower to where Alucard’s thigh was pressed against Geralt’s and pushed his hand between their bodies. “Son, I think you are hogging our favorite witcher.”

Alucard huffed out a quiet laugh. “Forgive me, Father. I should remedy that.”

He lifted himself up and shifted off to the side as he thought through how best to give them both access. While he considered it, he grabbed ahold of Geralt’s wrists, shifting so they were held in one of Alucard’s hands, and pressed them to the bed above Geralt’s head. That gave both Alucard and Dracula some room to play. All the while, Alucard kept a weather eye on how Geralt moved, cautious for any sign of strain. So far there was none.

“Hey, hey, oy!” Geralt made a production of protesting the manhandling. Yet his words didn’t match the actions, as he clearly moved to help Alucard out. “I can’t move.”

He didn’t sound too upset about that fact. He rather sounded anticipatory, looking at Dracula as if challenging him to do his worst.

Just for a little added help, Alucard slipped one of his legs under one of Geralt’s, propping it up a little and holding him open.

“Is that better, Father?” Alucard asked innocently.

“Much,” Dracula purred, his hand coming to Geralt’s face and gripping his jaw firmly. Then he pulled him in for a kiss, a long slow meeting of tongues that Alucard could watch with ease from this vantage point. He could see the way Geralt opened up and the flash of a wet tongue as his Father did his best to fuck Geralt’s mouth the way he undoubtedly wanted to in other ways, too.

While they kissed, Alucard let his free hand roam up and down Geralt’s body, enjoying the warm skin on display. What could be seen around the bandages, anyways. A thousand different ideas of what to do played through his mind. He wanted to touch and feel, to taste, to make Geralt squirm and moan with pleasure. More than that, he’d missed the three of them being together. 

Dracula’s hand slid down Geralt’s chest, down his now rapidly working belly, and then covered his still soft cock. He spread his hand over the whole of it, massaging gently as Geralt started to shift more purposefully under Alucard’s grip.

“Yes,” Geralt gasped. “Like this.” He exhaled loudly at another squeeze. “I’m going to get hard again and if you two make me wait half an hour bad things will happen,” he threatened as he spread his legs to give Dracula more access.

“Oh, but why rush?” Dracula said with a low chuckle. 

Alucard decided to join in. After all, he did like to see Geralt squirm. He slid his hand up Geralt’s thigh, brushed over Dracula’s hand, and then moved lower to wrap his fingers around Geralt’s balls. Once he had their warm fullness in his hand, he squeezed gently and carefully pulled.

The little gasp that Geralt made was music to his ears. 

\---

Geralt did his best not to arch up too much, but they were making it fucking hard on him. Alucard’s cool hand was tugging just perfectly at his balls while Dracula’s hot, calloused one had started to carefully jerk him. His cock was filling up rapidly, the vaguely oversensitive flesh perking up under that firm touch. 

Dracula wasn’t letting up on the kiss, either. He barely pulled up long enough for Geralt to get a breath in before coming back for more, fucking him wetly and slowly with his tongue.

It was hot and perfect. Everything that Geralt had been wishing for over the last week. Gods, watching Dracula and Alucard move around him without being able to reach out and touch was worse than the injuries themselves. 

For a while he was lost in the sensation of it. His eyes fluttered closed of their own accord as Dracula tasted and touched him. Fuck, he wanted to curl up into it. Alucard’s hand on his wrists reminded him to stay still, but that didn’t stop him from wanting. 

The scent of their release was slowly but surely being blotted out by the overwhelming sense of Dracula’s power. That burning, dark energy filled the room around them and wrapped around Geralt’s body like a second skin. 

Then he gasped, twitching violently as he felt a wet, cold touch on his newly hard cock. 

Alucard. 

His hand was cold from the slick he used, and was worming itself under Dracula’s hand on Geralt’s cock. 

There was a confusing, wonderful moment with two hands battling for space over his cock. Then Dracula let go, giving ground to Alucard. He didn’t go far. He merely waited until Alucard got a good grip, squeezed the root Geralt’s cock just right, and started pulling his fist up. Then Dracula followed that up with his own stroke, repeating the movement that Alucard just performed. 

Geralt gritted his teeth and then moaned out loud. He slammed his eyes closed as his lovers started stroking him, hand over hand. Alucard’s hand was slick and cool, and Dracula’s was warm right after it. It created a constant, never ending sensation. There were no breaks, just endless stimulation that threatened to liquefy Geralt’s brain.

Just when he thought it might be too much, Alucard slipped his hand down to trace over his hole. That featherlight touch was enough to make Geralt jerk his hips up. But just as quickly as he moved, Dracula was pressing him down, forcing him to accept whatever little touches Alucard decided to give. Holding him still.

“I think it might be time for a shift of position,” Alucard said quietly. He still kept up those maddening little circles and Geralt felt himself tense and release in rhythm to them. It didn’t help at all that Dracula’s hand still hadn’t let up, nor had their hungry kisses. 

“What did you have in mind?” Dracula asked, finally pulling back a bit from Geralt’s mouth.

“Lift him up,” Alucard said.

Before Geralt could even protest, he was in Dracula’s arms and Alucard was sliding behind him and pulling Geralt onto his lap. 

Geralt panted at the feel of Alucard’s smooth chest pressed to his back, and the slow rise and fall as Alucard breathed. 

They ended up sitting partially upright, with Alucard’s back on the headboard. Alucard slipped his legs between Geralt’s, smooth and strong, and spread them, opening them both up to Dracula’s hungry eyes. For unknown reason it made Geralt blush, the heat prickling over his cheeks as he felt vulnerable and exposed. Almost fragile in this hold, as if he was a favorite toy to play with. Alucard’s breath fanned over Geralt’s neck and he guided Geralt’s hands up to the headboard.

“Hold there,” Alucard whispered right in his ear. “Hold on and let me _play_.”

Just to emphasise his words, Alucard ran his hands over Geralt’s body, soft and gentle over the bandages on his torso, but slick and firm down his inner thighs. 

“Look at how pretty you are,” Dracula said, prowling up between their legs. 

He trailed a single finger down Geralt’s cock, making it twitch and jump with anticipation. Then he leaned in, and without warning bit down at Geralt’s thigh. He didn’t break the skin, but the sensation sent a shock up his spine. 

Geralt gasped and then shuddered even harder when Dracula wrapped his hand around Geralt’s slick cock and gave him a firm stroke, before pulling away. Geralt moaned and struggled to open himself even more in hopes that it would bring back the sensation.

“That’s right,” Dracula purred. “Show me.” His voice dropped to a low growl. “Show me where you want me most.”

Fuck, but Geralt could feel Dracula’s breath on his skin. It prickled up his thighs and over his eager cock. He tried to open his legs further, and felt Alucard shift his own to support him. That feeling of vulnerability increased, as did the heat on his cheeks. 

Sex was something Geralt had a great deal of practice with, and he was generally confident in his mastery. But there were times, like right now, where Dracula brought out something in him. Made him feel tender and inexperienced all over again. Blushing like a virgin and waiting to be ravished. He loved it, loved how strongly it affected him, and how hard it took his breath away.

“Please,” Geralt begged. The word came out as barely a whisper, harsh and needy. It felt like they’d barely even started and already Geralt was begging for it. 

One of Alucard’s hands slipped down Geralt’s back to curl under his ass, then lifted him up a little bit more onto Alucard’s lap. Then his fingers slid down the crack of Geralt’s ass. They circled his hole again and then spread out, pushing his cheeks apart. Displaying him, Geralt realized with a flash.

“Oh, holy fuck,” Geralt moaned, and tried to shift his hips into Alucard’s hand. He wanted those fingers inside of him. Wanted to feel the stretch and the burn. Wanted to be filled.

But Alucard just held him there, letting Dracula look all he wanted. Heat burned through Geralt and he dared a glance up to Dracula through his lashes. The look on Dracula’s face was hungry, so very hungry that it made Geralt shiver. One hand rested on Geralt’s thigh, burningly hot, and shadows ghosted off of Dracula’s skin like smoke. His eyes burned, and fuck if that didn’t turn Geralt on even more. 

“Oh, there’s that sweet little hole I love so much.” Dracula’s mouth stretched into a toothy smirk and he licked over his teeth, emphasising the sharp points of his fangs. “So tight and ready. Waiting for me.”

And it was, it really was. Geralt had never bottomed so much in his life, but oh gods he loved it when Dracula pushed inside him. Slow and deep, stretching him beyond what he thought possible and narrowing the whole world to nothing but that place they were connected.

Alucard’s finger slipped in, slick and smooth and doing nothing more than just teasing him further. 

“Do it,” Geralt rasped, his throat so dry it clicked. “Fuck me. _Please._”

Then there was another finger inside him, stretching him more. He could take Dracula with just this much stretching. He could. Gods knew that he was trained well enough by them both. But of course it wasn’t enough for the vampires. They loved to tease him, loved to push at his limits to see him cave and beg.

“You sure?” Dracula leaned in closer. His lips brushed Geralt’s and his body was carefully arched over Geralt’s, touching nothing. “I’m not sure,” Dracula murmured. One hand slid between Geralt’s legs and touched just the very edge of his hole. “This doesn’t seem open enough yet.”

A strangled whimper escaped from Geralt’s mouth and his cock twitched, already leaking a little. 

Alucard was laughing, the bastard. Geralt could feel the fast, uneven puffs of breath over the sweaty skin of his neck even if he couldn’t hear the laughter.

“You are both so mean,” Geralt complained, letting his knees fall apart even more. He finally realized that he couldn’t make them do what he wanted. Couldn’t hurry them up at all, not when the two of them teamed up like that.

“And you love it.” Two of Dracula’s fingers pushed at his slick rim. Slowly, incessantly, they pressed until the ring of muscle gave in and admitted them.

Geralt cried out in pleasure. The stretch was so wonderful. He twisted his hips into it without even thinking about it, circling a little to increase the sensation of both Dracula and Alucard’s fingers filling him. 

It was good, so good. At the same time it wasn’t anywhere close to enough. His rim was stretched so sweetly. There were four fingers in him now, but fingers could only go so deep. Not like how he knew Dracula’s cock would fill him. He wanted that. He wanted that thick, firm flesh inside him, filling him up until he could feel it in his damn throat.

Alucard nudged his head to the side and kissed along his neck. That was just perfect, that feeling of lips and teeth right there. He knew that Alucard wouldn’t bite, but Geralt found himself wishing that he would. 

“Yes,” Geralt moaned out, baring his neck more. “Mark me, please.”

Dracula laughed. The sound was barely more than a rumble. Then he leaned down to bite and suck at the opposite side of Geralt’s neck. Both of them worked to mark him up while their fingers stretched him open, thrusting in and out in different rhythm and causing Geralt's eyes to roll back. 

It was still not enough _at all_. The sting of them both sucking deep, dark bruises into his neck only made his abandoned cock throb more. He didn't even have to thrust again, his cock just lay there on his belly twitching and pulsing uselessly without any stimulation.

Time slipped a little as they worked him over, sucking and biting at his neck and shoulders. Every once in a while, the fingers in him would just barely graze that sensitive point inside of him, causing Geralt to gasp or cry out. He was burning, sweating with the heat from what they were doing to him. Behind him, he could feel Alucard’s cock thick and hard against his lower back, rubbing ever so slightly into him. 

“Much prettier now,” Dracula said into his ear, the ghost of a smile on his lips and in his words. “What do you think, Son? Shall we give him what he wants?”

“Oh please, please, fucking please,” Geralt babbled. 

Alucard hummed behind him, as if debating the matter in his mind.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. You teasing bastards,” Geralt groaned out, all while trying to writhe into their fingers a little more. All of the pain and discomfort from his healing wounds had long since faded under the pleasure they were giving him. 

He didn’t quite realize what was happening when Dracula pulled away from him until he felt the fingers recede and something hotter and blunter pressing at his hole.

“Yes, please yes,” he sighed, accepting the slow intrusion eagerly. His hole gave in easily, slick and worked over for who knew how long. He could feel every tiny movement as his rim spread around Dracula’s thick head, wrapping tightly around it, and then contracting as the thickest part pushed in. Geralt wanted to cry, it felt so good.

“Patience,” Dracula murmured right over his lips. “We are just starting after all.” Then the utter, horrific bastard pulled out. His cockhead dragged away slowly until it slipped free completely.

“Nooo,” Geralt cried out. Again, he felt Alucard’s huffing laughter behind him.

Dracula reached down to grip his own cock and started rubbing the tip around Geralt’s wet hole. Geralt tried to press down, to bear against that barely-there pressure. It didn’t help. Not even a little. Dracula just kept his touch light and teasing. Only after Geralt fell still did Dracula press in a little more.

“I like this,” Dracula said, pushing in again. Geralt could feel how his hole stretched, greeting Dracula's cock with a wet kiss. “The sounds you make.” The head was in again, and Geralt tightened down hard, trying to keep it in. To keep that weight and stretch right where he wanted it. 

Dracula didn’t go any deeper though. His hands braced on Geralt’s knees and squeezed tight.

“The way you look.” Dracula started pulling away again and Geralt tightened even harder. He thrashed in place and tried to get his legs to lock against Dracula’s hips and pull him closer, but Dracula held him in place effortlessly.

“Please,” he begged. “Please, fuck me damnit.”

That pulled a chuckle out of his cruel lover, but it worked. 

Dracula changed direction, from pulling out to forcing his way slowly, oh-so slowly, inside. Geralt was sure that he wasn’t even breathing as he relished the way that cock dragged so very slowly inside him, pressing forward until Dracula was all the way in with his balls pressed against Geralt’s ass. 

Geralt panted, surprised that he could even breathe around it. His body was alight with sensation, sending sparks of pleasure to his brain as his nerves fired off like mad. It felt so good to be stretched so mercilessly, to be filled so deep. Dracula circled his hips, just a little, just enough to rub endlessly over Geralt’s prostate. That only stroked that fire inside of him higher. 

“Now,” Dracula panted against Geralt’s lips, “we can have some fun.”

Dracula started pulling back, even slower than he pressed in, making Geralt feel every damn inch of him. Alucard was there too. His fingers slid over Geralt’s hole to touch where Dracula was stretching him so tight, adding another layer of sensation Geralt could barely deal with.

Dracula fucked him slowly, so damn slowly that Geralt kept alternating between cursing and begging. Even Dracula was covered in sweat; some of it dripped down his nose as he moved. 

In and out. Each thrust took an eternity to complete. 

Geralt promised him anything he wanted as often as he cursed him out, desperately trying to clench down on that cock the whole time. His own dick was drooling precome uselessly against his belly with not a hand on it, nothing to give him stimulation. 

All the while, Alucard teased him, riling him up even more. Touching along his hole, gripping his thighs, and nibbling at his neck and ear. Geralt wished that he could take them both right then, feel both of their cocks inside of him, filling him up until he couldn’t think or breathe. 

The only thing he could feel was his lovers around him. Nothing else existed but how they moved together. His nose was filled with the scent of sweat and sex layered over the ever present choking aroma of Dracula’s power. The way it sizzled on his skin only made Geralt moan harder, eager, mad for more sensation.

Just when he thought he might die from the need to come, a firm hand gripped his hard, painfully swollen cock, and stroked him in time with Dracula’s torturous thrusts. Heat coiled up as he cried out at the touch. Then Dracula started thrusting deeper, pressing in hard until Geralt clenched down in surprise and pleasure. Geralt’s eyes were wet with tears and his fingers were starting to ache from where he’d gripped the headboard too tightly. 

The orgasm hit him like a crashing wave. It felt huge; the sensation and pressure filled him up as he jerked and spurt. Every muscle in his body clamped down on Dracula’s cock, making it feel that much larger inside of him and pressing the pleasure of his release even higher. Still, Dracula pushed into him, in and out, over and over as Geralt came. The hand on him squeezed so perfectly, so tight and good that he was nearly floating with it. His head spun and he was dizzy from how good it felt.

Right at the tail end of it, right as he was starting to lose his hold on what was happening, Dracula’s cock throbbed inside of him. Fresh, wet heat spilled up as Dracula came and groaned into Geralt’s ear. There was one more deep thrust that pressed them both together, sealing their bodies, and still more of that hot come filled Geralt up. 

It felt amazing, and Geralt found himself squirming into it. Stuffed full of cock and come, caged in his lover’s arms. Their breath heavy in his ears and the skin burningly hot against him. All he could do was pant, his chest heaving with all the exertion. 

“Geralt.” Alucard gasped, strained and heated, and his cock pressed wetly against Geralt’s back.

“Shh.” Dracula was moving, shifting them in place so that Geralt was a little higher up on Alucard’s lap. All Geralt could do was moan and go limply with the movement. “I’m going to take care of you.” Dracula’s voice was low and rough. “I’m going to put your cock inside Geralt and stroke you until you come, because I want you to feel how wet I made him, how sloppy.”

Geralt had no idea who moaned louder, him or Alucard. 

Then there was more movement between his legs and pressure against his sloppy wet hole. Alucard’s hard cock slipped inside of him, slicked up from the come and oil that they put inside him before. Geralt gasped and clenched weakly, shocked anew by how much just Alucard’s cockhead could fill him. 

Alucard’s cock didn’t go deeper. There was just the head inside of him, pulling and pressing at Geralt’s rim as Dracula stroked him. Geralt felt Dracula’s fist pressed against his balls on every upstroke, the way it yanked and moved the cock inside him, causing endless, shifting pressure against his abused hole. Geralt’s hands were free, but he only noticed that when he realised he was trying to hold on to any and all available flesh. The sound of skin on skin whispered softly in his ear. Alucard’s breath stuttered and hitched, and then his hips jerking sharply as Dracula brushing over Geralt’s sensitive balls with every damn stroke. 

When Alucard came, Geralt almost choked on a moan at the sensation of hot, hot come spilling inside him again, coating him and burning the memory right into his brain. Alucard jerked once, twice, then three times before his cock slipped from his place inside Geralt. He was still coming. The next spurt landed over Geralt’s hole and his balls. The air was thick with the scent of come, with sex and sweat, power and pleasure. 

Geralt just lay there. His hands clenched weakly on whatever flesh of his lovers he managed to grip as he felt the slower, gentle moves of Dracula bringing Alucard down from his orgasm.

Exhaustion pulled at him, and his body felt heavy and sated. 

The last thought he had before sleep claimed him was that they sure made a mess of him.

\---

At first, Matt had tried to herd Eskel and Iga off to one of the other parts of the floor that the bedroom was on. 

Both Eskel and Iga had refused. 

Eskel did so because he knew damn well that Dracula, Alucard, and Geralt were going to be fucking on and off for the rest of the night, and soundproofing aside, he didn’t want to be close enough to be accidentally involved in that. For a number of reasons, really. 

Even though he couldn’t really feel anything from Alucard right that moment, he wasn’t certain that wouldn’t change once all the sex started. It was possible that a little extra distance would help that. Especially if he was well out of earshot and scent range. 

If he was affected, he wanted to be far enough away and with enough doors in between them all that he wouldn’t just run right in to join. Maybe one day he might decide to try out sex with Dracula and Alucard, but today was not that day. He’d had his fill of desires and urges not his own driving his actions. While Eskel couldn’t justify leaving the tower, nor did he really want to go that far away anyways, he could put a couple floors between them. If he couldn’t stop himself from feeling Alucard’s arousal, he could probably find someone to fuck before he broke down and went back upstairs. Maybe one of those pretty nurses.

Or Iga, since she was following behind Eskel like a shark tasting a wounded sailor. 

So after a little bickering, they’d ended up in Matt’s office. Probably for lack of anywhere better to put them. That was fine. From a defense standpoint it was a good choice. Matt’s office was private and roomy with no external windows and solid sound proofing. 

John had tried to leave, but Eskel and Iga both insisted he stay. Matt just shrugged at him and offered him the use of his desk.

“You got cards?” Eskel asked, flopping into a chair next to a small table in the corner of the office. Iga took a seat next to him, her eyes still glued to his every move.

“I do,” Matt replied evenly, and went to dig around in a drawer at his desk. John had already installed himself there with his laptop open, and he was busy typing away. “You sure you don’t want to go to one of the recreation rooms upstairs? It would be a hell of a lot more comfortable.”

“Nope.” Eskel shook his head, looking around the room. “You got any booze here?”

“No,” Matt replied flatly. “And Trevor said no liquor.”

“Yeah, up there. But we aren’t up there, and Geralt isn’t here being tempted,” Eskel reasoned. “I could really stand for a drink.”

Matt tossed a little box onto the table. Further investigation showed that there was a deck of cards in it. The patterns weren’t any Eskel recognized, but that hardly mattered. Eskel would play whatever Matt was willing to teach them, or modify things he already knew to match the deck. Most of the cards were just numbered, so that was easy enough, but it looked like some had weird stylized pictures of royalty on them. 

As Eskel thumbed through the deck, Matt settled into the chair next to him. He looked to Iga for a moment, then back to Eskel. His eyes narrowed. 

“Are you alright?” Matt asked.

“No,” Eskel said simply. He was very much not alright. Meeting with Fisk had been a pleasant way to spend some time. The dressing and undressing, the quiet compliments and appreciative looks, had given Eskel a much needed boost in spirits. But now that was done and the rest of the last day’s events wore heavily on him. 

He and Alucard hadn’t resolved anything. Not really. From the looks of things, they wouldn’t even get a chance to talk about it for a while. Doctor’s orders or not, Eskel fully expected Geralt to be demanding sex as often as he could for the rest of the night. 

The bruises that Dracula had left on Eskel had already long since faded, but he still felt _off_. His body was unsettled. Changed. It drove him to distraction to be unable to pinpoint the sensation.

Matt blinked at him, possibly surprised by the blunt answer. Even John stopped his typing to look up at them.

“Is there anything I can do?” Matt asked.

“No.” Eskel sighed and started shuffling the cards. It was something to keep his hands busy.

Iga shook her head at him. “I’d hoped you all would sort things out quickly, but it looks like it’s only more muddled.”

There wasn’t anything Eskel could say to that. It was true. 

“Well,” she purred, and trailed a finger down his arm. “If you’re in need of comfort, I would be happy to provide.”

That was a tempting offer. But Eskel had not forgotten how Alucard had growled over even the bare mention of anyone else touching him. Not to mention the strange situation that he and Dracula were headed into. Best not to tempt fate with any of that.

“I do appreciate the offer,” Eskel said with a shake of his head. “But I have to decline. For now anyways. I need to wait for...things to settle before I…” 

He shook his head again and shrugged.

“Hmmm.” Iga looked at him and there was a predatory calculation to her gaze. “I see.” Then she stood up abruptly. “I’ll find you liquor. I consider it First Aid. Maybe if you get drunk enough, you’ll be ready for a roll in the sack.” 

She winked at him, and walked out.

Eskel had to snort in amusement.

“Was it the drugs?” Matt asked. “Are there any lingering side effects?”

Ah yes, because Matt and John thought they’d been drugged. That was close enough to the truth, he supposed.

“Yes. Kind of.”

Matt stared at him. Eskel just kept shuffling the deck.

Gods, but Eskel just felt drained. Whatever energy he’d regained from the forced sleep had all but fled. 

“What do you play with these things?” Eskel asked, sliding the deck over to Matt.

After a long, lingering look, Matt took up the cards and started explaining something that sounded awfully similar to a dice game he knew. The royal cards---called ‘face’ cards---were a new twist, but the card combinations were basically the same. Two pair. Three of a kind. Flush. 

They were in the middle of a third hand when Iga knocked on the door, arms loaded with bottles.

“Where did you even find this?” Matt asked when he let her in.

“I have ways.” Iga looked at him smugly. She unloaded her bounty onto the table. It was a sizable amount of booze and all of it hard liquor. Most of the bottles were new, but it looked like a few of them had been opened already.

“Did you raid the kitchens?” John asked, eyeing the bottles. His fingers sat frozen over his keyboard and his glasses flashed in the light.

“Yup. Here, witcher. Drink up.” Iga smirked and slid a bottle over to him after claiming one for herself. “Matt?”

“No. One of us needs to be sober,” Matt said, resigned. 

Eskel wasted no time. He downed a third of his bottle in one pull, and winced at the burn. Rye whiskey from the taste of it. Vodka would have been better, but at the moment he could not give a fuck what he was drinking as long as it would get him drunk.

“How are you even still alive?” John was staring at the now much emptier bottle in horror.

“Witchers have great tolerance,” Eskel said. The words probably came out more grumpy than he intended, but he couldn’t quite stop the foul mood from settling over him.

Eight full, large bottles here and three half empty ones. That might, _maybe_, be enough to get him well and truly trashed. Probably not, though. Especially if whatever bullshit was going on with his body had changed his resistance to it.

“Are you sure this is wise?” Matt asked as he dealt Iga in. To his credit, he managed not to sound judgy at all. Just neutrally concerned.

“Probably isn’t.” Eskel took another guzzle, draining another third of his bottle. “Really don’t care.”

“Poor witcher. So frustrated,” Iga cooed and took a drink. “Why don’t you---”

Before Iga could finish whatever outlandish suggestion she was going to make, power flared up above them. Both Eskel and Iga snapped to attention, staring up towards the space in the ceiling where Alucard’s bedroom was situated.

Dracula.

His power, hot and fierce, bloomed in the upper floor. The heavy feeling of pure rage carried through that sense of power, but it was rage banked. Stored and waiting to be unleashed at another time. It was chokingly thick in the air. Even here. Eskel couldn’t help but shiver at the sensation of it tickling over his skin.

Oddly enough, it wasn’t a shiver of fear. What it _was_, Eskel couldn’t quite place.

“What?” Matt asked, his body stiffening in alarm. “What’s happening?”

“Nothing we should dare to interfere with,” Iga said firmly, though she still stared at the ceiling right along with Eskel.

“What does that mean?”

“It means that Trevor’s father is pissed,” Eskel said with a frown. He shook his head hard and went back to looking at his cards. 

But if anything, that only made both Matt and John tense further.

Before Matt could say anything, Eskel shook his head again. “Relax. Trevor and Geralt are fine. Gabriel treasures them,” he said, trying to soothe the men.

“Then why is he pissed off? So much so that both of you noticed it. _How_ you noticed, I’d like an explanation for, too.” Despite the rough words, Matt did ease down a little in his seat. 

It was a good question. Eskel finished off his first bottle as he thought it through. They were up there fucking, or about to. So what would make Dracula that furious?

The sense of waiting was what cinched it for him. He nodded and hummed to himself.

“We just know,” Iga said.

Matt glared at her.

“And he’s probably pissed because he’s taking the quiet time to see just how bad all of Geralt’s injuries still are before Geralt falls asleep,” Eskel said offhandedly. Granted, Dracula was probably doing that while fucking Geralt silly, but Eskel didn’t feel the need to share that. Iga knew, and Matt and John could speculate if they wanted. “The people who did the deed are long since ash, but the ones who ordered it are still aliiiive and kicking.” Eskel snorted and reached for another bottle. “For the moment anyways.”

“How do witchers get drunk anyway?” Iga asked, settling herself more comfortably in the chair beside Eskel’s. “I saw the kind of stamina you are capable of.” 

“We mix stuff,” Eskel said. “Lambert is better at it; you wouldn’t believe the kind of stuff he mixes together.” Eskel shook his head. “But I gotta admit, three glasses in we are usually sauced beyond reason.”

She tilted a bottle of whiskey at Eskel. 

“Can this even make a dent?”

“Given enough of it, yes. Eventually.” Eskel looked glumly at the first empty bottle of the night, sitting forlornly on the floor next to him. He wasn’t even buzzed yet. Then he looked to Iga with narrowed eyes. “Can _you_ even get drunk on this?”

She grinned at him, a shark’s smile, and inclined her head.

“Given enough of it, yes,” she parroted his words at him.

“Good.” He toasted his bottle at her and took another swig. “We can get smashed together.”

“You sure you don’t want to join us?” Iga smiled at Matt and John. “Might make the sting of losing hurt less.” She picked up her pile of cards.

“Definitely not. If you two are getting drunk, I’m staying sober to make sure you don’t get into too much trouble.” Matt looked back and forth between them, his face knowing. 

“More for us,” Eskel said, looking at his hand of cards. “Too bad we don’t have any coin to bet with. Games are always more fun with a good bet.”

“Strip poker,” Iga said grinning. 

“Vetoed,” Eskel said promptly. “That would only end up in blowjobs and all night sex marathons.”

Matt just stared at him.

“Right?” Iga’s grin got wider.

“How about Truth or Dare?” Eskel offered. “Winner of the hand gets to choose what the others do or ask them a question?” That seemed like a reasonable compromise. Iga could still ask for blowjobs, but it wouldn’t be as inevitable as if they started out with getting rid of clothes.

“No.” Matt glared at them both. “No dares. I’ve already heard what your dares are like, and we are not doing that. Stick to truth. Winner asks everyone else a question.”

Iga pouted at him. She had the damn expression down perfect, too. The ideal mix of petulant and sultry. Eskel had to shake his head. She was very good at what she did. 

“Spoilsport,” she said.

“Kinda his job,” Eskel pointed out.

After another minute of pouting, Iga nodded. “Fine. Questions for wins. But!” She pointed a warning finger at them. The light shined off of her polished red nail like it was a gem. “If you choose not to answer, you have to take a drink. Even you!” She eyed Matt.

“Fine with me.” Eskel shrugged. That fit in nicely with his plan to get sauced anyways. 

Matt closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “If I say no?”

“We can find somewhere else to drink. I have a credit card. We can go find a bar to drink dry,” Iga answered, her smile sharp and calculating. 

She and Eskel both knew damn well that Matt wanted to keep the two of them on lock down. So by saying that, she was calling his bluff. Truthfully, if Eskel and Iga wanted out of here, there wasn’t a damn thing Matt could do about it. 

“How did you get a credit card?” John asked. 

“Guess.” Iga licked her lips and smiled slowly.

Eskel snorted in amusement and took another drink.

“I’m really surprised,” Eskel said. “Only one card?”

She laughed.

“Also car keys, two phones, and something called a gift certificate to Tiffany’s.”

“Nice.” Eskel toasted her. “So. You in, Matt?”

There was a long pause as it looked like Matt was taking a moment to regret all of his life choices. Then he nodded. “Fine. John, stay sober.”

“Wait, what.” John looked up from his laptop in alarm. “How do you think I’ll be able to help anyone, even if I am sober?”

“You’ll figure it out, as the situation arises,” Matt said confidently. “Alright. Let’s play.”

Eskel cracked his knuckles and Iga straightened the cards in her hand and kissed them gently. Eskel narrowed his eyes, trying to determine if she cast some kind of charm. 

There was a brief scuffle over who got to deal for the rest of the night, but Matt wisely pointed out that Eskel had already told him that all witchers cheat and he expected that Iga was in the same boat. Since that was basically true, Eskel let it go with grace. 

The first hand went smoothly. Every step of the way, Iga cast her wide, innocent eyes to Matt, asking him how the game was played. Putting a card down, and then, “_Oops_, that’s not how it’s played, is it?”

Eskel wasn’t fooled for a minute. He knew damn well that Iga was a card shark. Hell, they all were. Witchers spent a ridiculous amount of time playing cards and dice. It was the easiest way to pass the time and make new friends. He’d played many a game with the succubi and the sadly, yet unlaid, incubus at Kaer Morhen.

If Matt was falling for it, though, Eskel couldn’t tell. The man had a damn good bluffing face. Impassive and cool. No doubt that would make the rest of the night interesting.

So Eskel played conservatively while Iga did a very fine job of acting clueless. Matt was cool as ever and, to no great surprise, he won the first hand. 

“Question time,” Matt said, gathering up the cards and shuffling them. “What’s the strangest thing you’ve ever done for work?”

Eskel and Iga both started snickering. What to choose from? Gods, but he’d had decades of being a sell sword, and witchers got asked to do some extremely odd things sometimes. 

“Alright,” Iga said laughing, and took a drink. “So this isn’t precisely _work_, but I think it qualifies. There was this man, and it was a lean year, you know. So we had to get what we could take. But anyways, this man wanted me so bad I could taste it.” She leaned forward on the table and pointed to her tongue. “And I’m my normal, wonderful self. I can tell, he wants me. So he takes me back to his manor. A massive, luxurious thing.” There was a roll of her eyes and a snort. “Pious bishop, _my ass_. No one that high up in the church should have that much personal wealth. Anyways. He’s hard and ready for me, and I’m taking off my clothes. But before I can even touch him, he walks off into the bathing chamber.” 

Eskel raised his eyebrows at her, questioningly. The he widened them. “Oh no,” he said quietly, only imagining what would happen with a succubus in a privy. 

She laughed. “No, it’s not what you’re thinking. So he gets in the bathtub, and orders me to stand on the far side of the room and throw fruit at him.” 

“Wait, what?” 

“Yeah. Fruit.” Iga shook her head, mystified. “That was all. No sex. No touching. Just...me throwing fruit at him.”

“Did he get off?” Now Eskel was curious.

“He did,” she said, snickering. “Not that it did me a lot of good on the other side of the room. But _he_ did.”

Matt looked just as stunned as Eskel felt.

“Amazing.” Eskel shook his head again. 

“Your turn. Spill,” Iga leaned forward again, and poked Eskel in the arm.

“I have done a lot of weird shit over the years, but I think the strangest was a man hired me to follow his goose around.” Just thinking about that job made Eskel want to drink.

“His goose?” Matt asked, shuffling the cards again.

“Yeah. So this man let his flock wander around free range, right? Well, sometimes birds eat little rocks, you know. They get caught up in the gizzard and it helps them break down the food that they eat. Well, this man had recently cut open a goose and found gold pellets in its gullet. He hired me to follow it around to see where it had been grazing.”

“And he couldn’t do this himself?” 

Eskel rolled his eyes and took a long swig. “He tried. But, fuck, that fucking beast was annoying as shit. Flying away. Going through swamps. Got nearly eaten by fucking wolves.”

“Did you find the gold?” Iga asked.

“Nope. Well, yes. But it wasn’t gold the beast was eating. Just painted bits of gravel from the next town over. A fair had gone through or something. So not only did I waste a day wandering around after a goose, but I didn’t get paid, either.” He paused to look at Matt. “Which, if you’ve never interacted with one, geese are fucking evil incarnate. They have _teeth_ in their beaks. _Teeth_. Like a cockatrice. No fucking bird should have goddamn teeth.”

“Wow,” Matt said, and dealt the next hand.

This time Eskel decided to up his game. Test Matt’s bluffs. Iga was still playing idiot, likely trying to lull Matt into a false sense of security. It was a much closer game, but Eskel won the round.

“Alright, my turn for questions.” Eskel grinned at them. “What's the funnest thing you have ever killed?”

“What.” Matt stared at him.

“Yeah? You know, the thing that was just a blast to go out and hunt down? Tell.” Eskel wiggled his fingers at them in a _gimmie_ gesture. 

Matt covered his face with one hand and took a breath. “You’re not joking.”

“Nope,” Eskel gave him a vicious grin. 

Matt sighed. “Alright. My father owned a place out in the country. We called it a farm, but it wasn’t really. There were a few animals, but nothing like serious farming. One year, he got plagued by wild turkeys. Everything Dad planted, they ate right up. And wild turkeys are smart as hell, too.” He sighed and shuffled the cards. “That year I got conscripted to help hunt them down for turkey season. Weeks of getting up before dawn. We tried stalking and baiting and blinds. By the end of Fall we only ever managed to kill one of the damn things, but the sense of accomplishment was incredible. One scrawny bird, and both Dad and I were bursting with pride, because we at least got _one_ of them.”

Eskel nodded, eyebrows raised. _Interesting_. “I’ve had hunts like that. The effort put in was disproportionate to the reward, but I was so damn glad to be done that it felt like I’d won a thousand gold coins.”

He turned to look at Iga, eyebrow raised.

“You know my kind doesn't kill on purpose,” Iga said. “But there was a man, a holy man as he liked to proclaim, that I loved to torture.” Iga touched the fingertip to her lips. “He was so horny though, wanted into my bed so badly, I decided to see how far I could push him. I had him give me half his fortune, then I convinced him to name a holiday after me. It was a trip and half watching his whole pious congregation pray to me.” She grinned. 

Eskel cackled. “Ah, gods, that’s fantastic.”

“Which holy day?” Matt asked.

“Sanctus Ignus, Day of Holy Fire.” Iga wiggled her eyebrows. 

Eskel sprayed out the booze in his mouth and choked laughing so hard, tears were streaming from his eyes.

“Day of Holy Fire,” he wheezed, and then started laughing again. He could feel how red in the face he was getting but he couldn’t stop. Day of Holy Fire was one of the biggest holidays in the whole Eternal Flame religion. Did the grandmaster even know the origin of this holiday? Eskel howled, thinking of introducing the pious Siegfried to this little bit of history. “Iga, I beg you, tell me you have some proof of this.”

“I kept his lordship’s holy seal and love letters, as a reminder of the event.” Iga looked like the cat that ate the canary, and Eskel couldn’t blame her, not one little bit. 

“Oh gods,” he wheezed. “I will never be able to look at one of those celebrations again and not laugh.”

“Celebrate that fine holy day in the manner in which the spirit that inspired it would have wanted you to,” Iga intoned solemnly. “Go out and get fucked. Several times.” Then she waved her hand over him in the traditional Eternal Flame sign of benediction. 

Eskel had to rest his head on the table, he was laughing so hard. It took him a good five minutes to recover. 

The next three rounds of cards, both Matt and Eskel lost badly. Iga had finally decided to show her skill and promptly began wiping the floor with them. Predictably, her questions were sex based.

Eskel answered his with a minimum of fuss. He’d already slept with Iga several times at that point; she damn well knew what he was capable of. The questions were clearly more for Matt. He answered two out of the three, but passed letting her know the details of his last sexual encounter.

Then the competition started in earnest. Furious concentration was spent on every hand, which was somewhat hindered by the fact that both Eskel and Iga were starting to get visibly drunk.

Eskel himself was maintaining a pleasant, heavy buzz when Matt finally started winning again.

“The people who ordered the attack on Geralt,” Matt asked, “is Gabriel really going to just…kill them?”

“He became much gentler ever since his Son came back into his life, so he might actually do that.” Iga licked her lips. Her brow furrowed a little as she thought about it.

“Yeah?” Eskel asked, too curious and drunk to keep his mouth shut. “You think he would be so restrained? He was pretty mad. Is pretty mad.” He thought about the wasteland he walked through in Temeria. The heat and the ash in the air. “Only killing them would be a mercy.”

Off to the side, he noticed both Matt and John grow a little paler, but that information didn’t seem particularly important. They’d figure out soon enough just how violent Dracula’s rage could be. If they hadn’t assumed it already. This would be a learning moment for them.

“Back before…” Iga licked his lips. “Back then, those that earned his ire would never be granted freedom like that. I think some of them are still locked up somewhere in the dungeons.”

Eskel nodded, unsurprised. “I’m still kind of surprised he didn’t kill me in Temeria, just for interrupting him.”

He could almost feel the scorching heat against his skin. The ever present sense of Dracula’s power above them in Alucard’s bedroom didn’t help that one bit.

“He likes you, you know.” Iga downed another drink, polishing her bottle and putting it away. “He’s also unbearably soft on his son.”

That made Eskel snort in amusement and nod. “Gods, we are all so whipped. Just one look of those sad eyes and I want to smother the man in blankets.” 

“_You_ may be whipped.” Iga’s lips curled down in a brief expression of distaste. “None of us will forgive him anytime soon.” She made a sharp, slashing motion with her hand almost accidentally braining Eskel in the process. It was only his witcher reflexes that saved him and his booze.

Just to be on the safe side, Eskel drained his bottle. She couldn’t knock it over if it was empty. Or she could, but it wouldn’t matter anyways. 

He set it down on the floor next to the other empties, and shrugged at her. “Lots of history with them. And you all. I’m not surprised you all can’t stand him.”

Eskel didn’t know the details, but he knew just how long Alucard and Dracula had fought, and how bitter the fighting became. Hundreds of years had passed, and if what Geralt said was true, several hundred years of slumber for Dracula added on to that, too. 

While he didn’t agree with Iga’s sentiment, he didn’t begrudge her the way she felt about the situation. He’d be pissed, too.

Then he snorted again, and ran a hand over his now healed neck. “And I’m well aware just how much…Gabriel likes me.”

“I don’t think you are,” Iga said cheerfully. She leaned down at the table, giving all of them a lovely view down her neckline, and cooed, “He would eat you with a spoon if he only got a chance.”

Eskel broke down into snickers at the thought of Dracula _not_ using his teeth for any kind of feeding. “A spoon? You think he would use silverware?” 

“Of course.” She refilled Matt and Eskel’s glasses. Eskel had no idea where the glasses came from. He could have sworn that they started out just drinking from the bottle. “Do you know why dessert spoons are so small?”

Eskel blinked. Thinking was becoming harder, his thoughts connecting more sluggishly than usual. He looked down at the collection of empty bottles at his feet. That might explain it.

“No,” he admitted eventually. To him, the various tiny spoons and three pronged forks were nothing more than an affectation.

“They are tiny...” Iga dipped one finger into the booze and licked it clean with long, slow licks. “...So that you can enjoy the dessert for much longer.” She winked at Eskel. “And he wants to enjoy you for as long as possible.”

He raised his eyebrows at her, and then pursed his lips in thought. Well, that sort of did fit in with what he’d gotten from Dracula so far. His face burned a little bit, but he wasn’t sure if it was because of the booze or the thought of Dracula taking his time enjoying Eskel.

How long would ‘as long as possible’ end up being? How much would Eskel end up changed in the process? Witchers weren’t afraid of enhancement, but what Dracula and Alucard could do to him would be far beyond what he’d ever guessed for himself. 

“And how long.” Eskel had to pause and clear his throat. “How long does it usually take until he loses interest in his lovers?”

Iga stole the cards from Matt and started playing with them.

“No idea.” She shrugged. “He never had a lover before…before.” She cast an eye at the last half empty bottle of booze, something green and much weaker than the vodka they’d had before. “We are out of drink.”

“We should find more,” Eskel said immediately. He was drunk, but he wasn’t _nearly_ as drunk as he wanted to be. 

“That is an extremely bad idea,” Matt piped in. 

“Sounds like a great idea,” Iga added with a grin.

“I don’t know how you two are even still alive after drinking all of that, and I have serious doubts about your ability to walk.” Matt looked pointedly back and forth between them.

“It’s the only sane option,” Eskel said sagely. “When you’re out of liquor, go find more. Otherwise we might have to stop drinking.”

“Or stop making booty calls,” Iga added sagely, putting her hand on Eskel’s shoulder. “That reminds me,” she said seriously. “As hot as you are you really dont have the shoulders for a strapless dress.”

“Pfffft.” Eskel snickered, and leaned into her. “Someone’s been telling tales. I’ll have you know, I looked great. Lambert’s hat was pretty memorable, too.”

“Lambert’s hat was what was hot that season,” Iga protested, shaking her head seriously. “And not tales. Pictures. Yen took pictures and Triss had a copy. She showed me. You looked very fetching in that dress though, even despite the shoulders.”

Eskel didn’t know whether to laugh or slam his head into the table. He ended up doing a combination of both, giggling drunkenly while resting his forehead on the cool wooden surface in front of him. 

Pictures? How the fuck had Yenn managed that?

“Gods, you should have heard Lambert go on about color combinations. For fuck’s sake, Yen only wears black and white. It’s not like there was a plethora to choose from.” 

As if by magic, sandwiches and thickly cut cheese cubes appeared on the table next to them. It took Eskel a moment to figure it out, but John’s retreating and somewhat disapproving form walking away from the table was a good hint. 

“Ohh, food.” Eskel grabbed a piece of cheese and quickly shoved it in his mouth, then he pushed the tray towards Iga.

“Yes. Please eat,” John said, perhaps a little desperately as he sat back down at Matt’s desk. “I can get more if you’re still hungry. Maybe all that bread will soak up some of the liquor.”

“Not without more booze!” Iga declared, picking up the plate and turning away, hiding it from view.

“The woman is right,” Eskel nodded and braced himself on the table. “It is a worthy contract, to find more booze. You willing to pay for it?” He turned to Iga.

“One blowjob to be called in at your convenience,” she said promptly.

He nodded. That seemed fair. “Win-win for both of us. Done. Let’s go.”

“No, wait---” Matt and John both said.

But Eskel was already through the door.

“You won’t be able to get anywhere without the access codes!” John called after him, following awkwardly.

“You know I can just break the locks?” Eskel asked. 

“Don’t be a brute,” Iga muttered and appeared behind John’s shoulder. The way the aide squeaked and jumped in place made Eskel think she must have goosed him. “I can give you all the codes your heart may desire.”

Eskel smiled at her and bowed. “You are a gift.”

“I am.” She nodded with a smile and then rattled out a string of numbers. “I found that this gets me everywhere I need to go.”

“How do you know that?” Matt asked, looking deadly serious and no little bit annoyed.

“Guess,” she said, licking her lips.

Eskel snickered to himself, and then looked up and down the hall. “Where, oh where might more booze be…” he mused. “You already raided the kitchen, yeah?”

“I did,” Iga confirmed. 

“Overseer’s desks, I bet,” he said finally. “The higher up, the better. Men in charge always like to have a bit of drink on hand.”

“You can’t get into their offices,” John sputtered. 

“Also, _overseers?_” Matt grumbled. 

Eskel was already headed down the hall. 

“Wait, you can’t go alone,” Matt protested.

“That’s sensible,” Eskel said, nodding as he walked. “Safety in numbers. Who knows what might be here. Aw, fuck, my swords are still upstairs.”

“Oh, thank god,” John muttered.

If Eskel remembered the building layout correctly, there should be a number of large offices on this floor. And another two floors below this filled with executive offices and meeting rooms. 

He made his way down the hall, and peeked in the window of the first door.

“You can’t just enter a CEO’s office like that. Only a very select group of people can be there!” John hissed, sounding like a tiny storm cloud following along after them.

Half way through whatever John was babbling about, Iga sashayed up and poked the code into the keypad on the wall, making the door open with a soft _click_.

“Yess,” both Iga and Eskel whispered. 

Eskel headed in and looked around.

“They have very nice desks here, thick wood, quite comfortable,” she informed them as she set the plate of sandwiches and cheeses atop some paperwork.

“Yeah, it looks like it,” Eskel said happily. He headed straight over to said desk and started looking through the drawers.

“So much better than the metal and glass ones on the floor below,” she said with a mournful twist of her lips. “I got chaffed in all sorts of places on those.”

“Glass, ug. Never like to fuck on glass.” Most of the drawers were unlocked, but there were two that weren’t. “So slippery.”

“Stop. Please, stop now,” Matt said, holding up his hands.

“Why? You know we aren’t going to take anything that matters.” Eskel didn’t bother looking at him. Instead he rifled through the tray of little folded metal pins in the top most thin drawer. “Wow, why would anyone keep a whole fucking drawer full of lock picks right above a locked drawer? It’s like he’s asking to get robbed.”

He promptly began bending the little pins into the right shape, and went to work on the first lock. It took less than half a minute for it to pop open.

“Jackpot,” he said with a feral grin. “Hrm. Money, papers. Papers. More papers. Huh. Small flask?” Eskel picked up the thin, clear bottle and sniffed the contents. Some kind of brandy.

Iga wasn’t idle, she kept poking at the other cabinets, making mournful little sounds at not finding anything useful.

“If you take anything other than booze, I will have you escorted back up stairs,” Matt said seriously. One of the big veins in his temple pumped a little ominously. 

That was a man who needed another drink.

“You need some cheering up,” Iga announced, returning from her exploration with an unopened bottle of wine. 

“Nice!” Eskel gave her an approving nod.

She tossed the bottle to Eskel and then gripped the skirt of her dress, pulling it up a little.

“I shall deliver,” she announced and jumped up onto the desk. Eskel barely managed to rescue the tray with food.

Iga grinned down at them, flushed and beautiful. She looked wild and alive. She was also barefoot, something Eskel had just noticed.

“Would you like a dance or a song?” She made a swishing motion with the hem of her dress, her feet moving lightly over the dark wood as she turned a tight circle.

Eskel drew one of his knives, one with a nice curved blade. He looked over the wine bottle for a moment. Then with a viciously fast swipe, he cut the end of the bottle clear off. The top of the glass with the cork inside flew across the room and the wine sloshed a little, but didn’t spill. 

He took a drink and then passed it up to Iga.

“Dance!” Eskel said cheerfully. He snached one of the sandwiches off of the tray and fell into the chair behind the desk.

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” John was muttering to Matt. “I’ll have cleaners come in. We can say there was an accident. Maybe a pipe burst.”

Matt was just watching Iga and Eskel between the fingers of one hand. “Wait. Dancing outside.”

“But tables are the best place for dancing,” Iga said, rolling her hips to imaginary music. 

Whatever dance she was doing, Eskel had never seen such a thing. He was extremely impressed though. Her arms spread out back and forth as if she were treading water, graceful and sinuous, all while her hips rocked back and forth, round and round. It drew the eye right to her ass, and she spun as she danced. Gods, but she was nimble. 

When she tossed her head back, her hair reached beyond her ass, a long tail of it giving the whole dance a light and almost mystical feel. Her heels were striking the table in rhythm, and Eskel picked it up, clapping along. 

Iga was fierce and beautiful, comfortable in her own skin in a way that human women never seemed to be. All primal lust and power. She finished up her routine with a joyous yell and jumped down. Then she raised the bottle, still in her hand and drained it in barely a few minutes.

Eskel clapped up a storm, whistling and cheering. “Hot damn!” he called out. “Now that’s a damn dance.”

“Excellent, yes, now can we get out of here?” Matt said dryly. 

“Definitely,” Eskel said, draining the flask he found in the drawer. “We’re out of booze again. Time to hit up the next room.”

John groaned as if in pain and Matt grimaced.

“I can order you drinks,” John said. “I can have them delivered. Any kind you want. Just, please, can we head back to Matt’s office?”

“But I have a contract,” Eskel said, frowning. He---very courteously, he thought---closed all the drawers and pushed the chair back into the desk. Then he grabbed the tray of food and offered his elbow to Iga. “Shall we?”

“Lead on, Master Witcher.”

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Miller is seriously _earning_ is fucking paycheck.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes from Quarra: Hoooooboy what a time to be alive. Here's a fresh chapter to help brighten everyone's day. You all are in my thoughts. Stay safe.
> 
> There is a song referenced in this chapter. [The Wolven Storm](https://youtu.be/sb1sO6hhbaU) from the Witcher 3 game. Just like in the earlier chapters, the lyrics are written in so listening to this is optional. It's a lovely song, though.

Matt followed behind Eskel and Iga, fuming every step of the way. He’d had just enough to drink for him to feel a touch of warmth in his stomach, and right now he was wishing he could get as smashed as those two clearly were.

First, there was all the drinking. Oh _god_, how could they drink that much and live? Between Eskel and Iga alone, they’d already downed enough booze to supply a fair sized wedding party. More than a dozen jugs of liquor. Not just little bottles. _Jugs_. Fifths to gallons. Where Iga even found gallons of whiskey, he didn’t know. 

Then there was all the breaking and entering. 

As much as it drove him absolutely insane, Matt knew damn well that they were doing minimal damage. It was nothing really very serious, though no doubt there would be some tricky explanations to be done later. The situation would be far, far worse if Eskel and Iga decided to ditch him and cause trouble on their own.

What really nettled him was just how many fucking security codes Iga had. The sex thing had to be a scam. It was a cover. All the sleeping around only allowed her to infiltrate the staff here with frightening efficiency. 

She wasn’t some kind of sex slave. 

She was a _spy_.

It was only by grace of the fact that Iga didn’t feel the need to hide it around them that Matt even knew. Probably because Belmont Sr. didn’t feel that they were a threat. Matt could only imagine the damage she could do to an organization that didn’t see her coming. 

So even though just following them around while they ransacked the executive offices for drinks made him twitch and grind his teeth, Matt kept quiet. It was a much smarter idea to go with the flow and see what they both would give up while drunk.

And, oh, had they already given up so much information. That stuff about how Belmont Sr. still had people chained up in his dungeons made Matt’s blood run cold. 

As they walked, he pieced information together. Trevor had said he was raised by the church in barracks. As had Belmont Senior. There was the implication that the two of them used to fight. That would explain Iga’s dislike of Trevor. She was loyal--very, very loyal--to Belmont Senior. Both Eskel and Iga agreed that Belmont Sr. held his son and Geralt in extremely high regard. Was ‘soft’ on them, and gentler now that they were in his life. Considering how terrifying Belmont Sr. was now, it was difficult to imagine what he was like before that. 

There was also the odd relationship between Belmont Sr. and Eskel. The fact Eskel denied they slept together was a bit of a shock, really. He was sure that both witchers shared Belmont Sr.’s bed; it fit so well with the whole cult leader thing he had going. It also rankled, just how well trained his people were. The witchers were hunters and killers, that was obvious. Between the scars and the weapons it was hard to see them as anything else. But Iga duped him and everybody else.

The little tidbit about Eskel dressed in a strapless dress was good, though he wished he could see the _pictures_. That must have been the incident that Eskel was talking about when he and Trevor were drugged out. The thought of such buff, heavily armored men living it up in a friend’s hastily raided formal dresses was admittedly hilarious. 

Matt had the impression that partying with the witchers was the kind of event that had people waking up with a shaved cacti in their bed, possibly with makeup in places no makeup should ever be present, and rocking a hangover that would last for a week.

Not that he had any experience with that.

Not a huge amount anyways.

Matt had to admit that Eskel was right on the money with the suggestion of where to find more alcohol. Most of the offices they visited had a bottle of something, even if it was just a decorative decanter. 

They cleaned out the top executive floor and then made their way down to the level below. Matt knew for a fact that there was less booze there---that floor was mostly meeting rooms---but at least it would keep them harmlessly busy while they searched. 

Eskel and Iga didn’t make it past the lobby. Both of them collapsed onto one of the plush couches. The tray of food had long since been consumed and discarded, as had most of the booze that they’d found along the way. 

Matt and John both sank gratefully into nearby seats. From the way John was furiously working on his phone, no doubt he was coming up with some way to cover up the break ins and appease the executives in a way that wouldn’t have too much fallout. Matt wished him luck. 

It looked like Eskel and Iga had finally hit the stage of drunkenness where lethargy took over, and for that Matt was extremely grateful. They were leaning on each other, humming and giggling.

“Oh!” Iga pointed at the opposite wall where a small exhibition of old musical instruments was located. 

It was fairly new. About three months ago the new designer decided to make the tower more artsy. To be completely honest, Matt preferred the instrument displays to the ugly-ass ‘modern’ art that was there before. He couldn’t count the times the cleaners threw out some of the past expositions thinking they were trash. Instruments were at least something that could be understood by everybody and the warm, softly curved wood warmed up the sterile office space.

“I know this!” Iga hopped off the couch and picked up something that looked like a guitar, but with fewer strings and a smaller body.

Eskel looked at her with interest. His eyes didn’t quite focus correctly and there was a dazed quality to his gaze. He tilted his head sideways, leaning it on the back of the couch like it was too heavy to lift.

Iga picked the instrument up from its stand, obviously ignoring John’s protest. She came back to the couch and sat with her feet pulled under her. The shape of the instrument matched her very well, for some weird reason. She looked pretty and soft with her head bowed over it as she plucked a string here and there. 

“It’s even fairly in tune.” She sounded pleased.

“Lucky,” Eskel said quietly. 

“I’m an amazing singer,” Iga proclaimed haughtily, tossing her hair. “I can make any man cry in five minutes flat.”

That made Eskel smile. “Yeah. Your kind are great singers.”

Matt just raised an eyebrow. Of all the skills Iga had boasted over, making men cry from singing seemed like the most unreasonable one yet.

“Oh? You disbelieve?” she said, catching his look. Her eyes narrowed and she strummed a chord. “Watch and see.”

The melody she carefully picked out was haunting and slow. From the way Eskel’s breath caught in his throat, it was a song he’d heard before.

When she started singing, Matt had to admit that Eskel was right. Her voice was brilliant. Light and clear, sweet and sad at the same time. The song was about love gone wrong, as far as Matt could tell, and the words evoked a visceral reaction from him. It was lush and poignant. Matt found himself drawn in to the act of listening.

_These scars long have yearned for your tender caress._  
_To bind our fortunes, damn what the stars own,_  
_Rend my heart open, then your love profess. _  
_A winding, weaving fate to which we both atone._

Iga’s voice went fragile, wistful, and vulnerable somehow. Her eyes lowered and her long lashes kissed her cheeks as she went into the chorus.

_You flee my dream come the morning._  
_Your scent - berries tart, lilac sweet,_  
_To dream of raven locks entwisted, stormy,_  
_Of violet eyes, glistening as you weep._

Then her voice strengthened, conviction and stubbornness filling it as her brows drew together.

_The wolf I will follow into the storm, _  
_To find your heart, its passion displaced,_  
_By ire ever growing, hardening into stone,_  
_Amidst the cold to hold you in a heated embrace._

_You flee my dream come the morning._  
_Your scent - berries tart, lilac sweet,_  
_To dream of raven locks entwisted, stormy,_  
_Of violet eyes, glistening as you weep._

By the time she hit the chorus again, she lost the stubbornness. Her voice faded to soft plea. The sadness spilled from it like a waterfall and the soft sounds of the instrument only enhancing the sensation of wiftful grief; a yearning so deep it tightened something in Matt’s chest.

With the next verse, her voice didn’t regain the stubbornness of before. Rather, there was a confused guilt and, under it all, regret that tore at Matt’s heart.

_I know not if fate would have us live as one,_  
_Or if by love's blind chance we've been bound._  
_The wish i whispered, when it all began, _  
_Did it forge a love you might never have found?_

Her voice broke, just a little on the last line, as if she already knew the answer to that question and it wasn’t one she wanted to hear. Her pain was beautiful. The melody was nothing more than just a few simple notes strung together, but that somehow only made it deeper and more meaningful.

The last repetition of the chorus was no longer yearning. It was a goodbye. Soft, bone-deep regret filled the emptiness of the room around them.

_You flee my dream come the morning._  
_Your scent - berries tart, lilac sweet,_  
_To dream of raven locks entwisted, stormy,_  
_Of violet eyes, glistening as you weep._

The saddest thing about the whole song was that the love was there. It was real and true, but it wasn’t enough. 

Matt had thought of his own life, his relationships, few and far between though they were. He thought of his parents and of other couples he knew. At this point he was well experienced enough to realize that love just simply wasn’t enough to make all relationships work. Two people could love each other dearly and still be unable to stand being in the same room.

To his intense surprise, he found that his eyes had gotten a little misty. More surprising still, John had paused in his work to listen as well. His eyes were wide and watery, but there was a slight confusion there too. Like the song had brought up something unexpected for him.

Eskel just looked like someone shot his cat. Maybe it was the alcohol, but he was slumped over on Iga’s side, with a grim, lost look on his face. 

Silence followed the end of the music as they all sat with the feelings it drew up. 

“I didn’t know you knew that one,” Eskel said quietly, finally breaking the moment.

“We learned all the songs we could about you witchers. Dandelion was very helpful,” Iga replied.

“Don’t sing it when Geralt is around.” Eskel kept his voice soft, and there was barely a hint of drunken slur to the words. “I don’t think he could stand it, for all that he likes to think he's over Yen already.”

Matt looked at Eskel in surprise. 

“Geralt?”

Eskel sighed, rubbing at his face. He still looked sad as hell.

“Geralt is a very charming guy. Generous with his heart. Probably more than was good for him. He was always looking for something, though. Spread the love around, far and wide, but no one really fit with him.” Eskel slid down, resting his head against Iga’s shoulder and closed his eyes. “And then he met Yennefer.” 

“There are so many stories about them,” Iga whispered. “About their love.”

“The worst thing is, all of them are true. Or most. He fell in love the first time he laid his eyes on her. Didn’t matter that she felt nothing but disdain for him, and was bound and determined to use him for her own gain.” 

Eskel exhaled loudly. “Geralt made a wish, a stab in the dark, and it came true. Eventually she fell for him, too. They fought tooth and nail to raise Ciri, to keep her safe against those that sought to harm her. They worked together, did things no one thought possible. The two of them were unstoppable. They argued with each other, too. Like cats and dogs. Gods, but her temper is vicious, and the two of them went from one kind of passion to another, back and forth. Then he lost his memory and got with Triss. Yen never forgave him for that, I think.

“This song, it was written when Geralt first lost his memory. When we thought that the twenty years they spent together would prevail. It didn’t, though. Their relationship never recovered.” Eskel sounded drowsy and very sad. “As much as I wouldn’t trust Yennefer as far as I could throw her, I could tell it tore them apart. There was a reason why people wrote songs about their love. Each time he saw her, it was like the world stopped for him. Just stopped. It hurt to see.” 

Iga shifted, letting Eskel’s head to rest on her breast as she did her best to curl around him.

“Did you ever love like that?” Iga asked. She set the instrument aside and starting to slowly run her hands through Eskel’s hair.

He snorted, a small and bitter sound.

“Witchers don’t love. Our mutations make sure we don’t feel pain or emotions like normal humans do. We are not supposed to love at all. We’re not supposed to feel _anything_.” He laughed into Iga’s skin. “Of course Geralt had to go and change everything.”

“Wait,” Matt asked, something sparking in his brain. “Twenty years? They were together that long? But…did they meet as kids?” 

Because Geralt did not look like he’d passed thirty yet, how could he have such a long and apparently meaningful relationship?

Eskel opened his cat eyes and looked at Matt without moving away from Iga’s embrace.

“He’s much older than you think.” 

“Like, forty?” John asked, clearly following Matt’s thoughts.

Eskel laughed.

“Closer to a hundred,” he corrected.

“A hundred!” John gasped. He leaned forward so far that his phone nearly slid off his lap and he had to scramble to catch it. “But he doesn't even look like he’s thirty!”

“I’m actually younger by half a year,” Eskel murmured, a tiny smile on his lips. Iga was still petting his hair and looked ready to cuddle him right to sleep. 

_A hundred_.

They were both older than Matt’s parents. Hell, older than his grandmother even.

“I…how?” Matt asked finally, feeling wrong footed in a way he just hated.

“All that enhanced healing that kept Geralt from dying on the operating table. The same thing that kept me from dying when my neck was torn open.” Eskel shrugged. “Witchers age slowly. It was all part of the design. We weren't meant to die of old age. Sooner or later we’re all killed on the Path, so it made sense to change us so that we’re as efficient as possible, for as long as possible.”

“If your mutations really manage to slow aging so drastically, I find it hard to believe nobody tried to continue them, even if your…school, didn’t,” John said unexpectedly. “No matter where you are from, people will always be afraid of getting older and dying.”

“People tried. They tried so hard they murdered as many witchers as the monsters did, back in the day. But the best result was achieved by the different witcher schools, and that was barely ten percent survivors. Little kids undergoing the Trials. Only one in ten survived and from those, again only half gaining the traits desirable for a witcher.”

“What happened to those that didn’t gain the traits?” Matt asked despite himself. He could already guess the answer.

“They died during training,” Eskel said easily.

“So there are no…half witchers anywhere? People whose mutations didn't take as well as yours or Geralt’s?”

Eskel shook his head.

“The training and tests were specifically designed to kill off the weakest of us. If you were strong enough to survive the training, you were strong enough to survive the Path.”

“Do you ever want for more witchers to be created?” John again, watching Eskel with careful eyes.

Eskel sighed.

“Mostly no. I don’t want any kid to go through what we did. But sometimes…sometimes I wish there were more of us than just Geralt, Lambert, Vesemir, and me.” Eskel pressed his face into Iga’s skin for a moment. “People die, and sooner or later one of us will be left alone. Too human for monsters, too monstrous for humans. We only ever fit with each other.”

“Master owns you now,” Iga said gently, comfortingly, still stroking Eskel’s hair. “He won’t leave you alone even if you want it.”

Eskel snorted again.

“Are you happy?” he asked unexpectedly. “Being owned by him. Is it what you wanted?”

To her credit, Iga didn’t just answer with a platitude. She hummed, thinking.

“Before Him, my life, our lives, were mostly focused on survival. There was no order. There was only endless competition, backstabbing, and strife. There was no future. After He took over, He set _rules_. We never had those before, you see. He gave our life meaning, made the conditions clear, and never once lied about what He expected. But…He gave us a future, and that wasn’t something I ever had before.” She paused in her stroking. “So yes, I am glad that I am owned by Him.”

Eskel hummed and then was quiet for a moment. Matt and John exchanged a glance. What could they really say to any of that? How terrifying. And sad, really, when slavery was the better option.

“Witchers have our Path. It’s all that we are. But Geralt found a way around that, too. I’m not sure how I’ll fit in.”

“You’ll fit in very nicely,” Gabriel _fucking_ Belmont said from behind them.

Matt and John both nearly jumped out of their skins. One of them yelped. Hopefully it was John, but Matt couldn’t be sure. Fucking hell, but that man moved like a damn ghost!

“And if you think your Path will take you away from where I want you to be, think again,” Belmont Sr. continued, his voice a low, pleased purr. He stepped out of the shadows of the dimly lit halls behind them and went to stand a few feet in front of where Eskel and Iga sat curled up. 

For a moment all Matt could do was stare. The hallways behind his seat were _not_ ones with elevators or stairs. How the hell had Belmont Sr. snuck behind them without Matt seeing him?

Then he had to stare a little more, because Belmont Sr. was half dressed at best. He still wore his black dress pants and shirt, but the shirt was completely unbuttoned and untucked, and he was also walking around barefoot.

To Matt’s intense irritation, neither Eskel nor Iga looked particularly surprised by Belmont Sr.’s sudden appearance. For once Iga made no move to stand up or bow. She just stayed wrapped around Eskel with one hand running through his hair. 

Eskel snorted. It probably was supposed to be a laugh, but it came out sounding a little too rough and unhappy.

“Yeah, believe me. I know. Between you and your son…” Eskel sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, pressing in to Iga’s skin a little.

The way he said that made Matt frown. What did Trevor have to do with Belmont Sr. owning them? Eskel said they were all whipped. Was it just that, or did Belmont Sr. intend to pass on his…_possessions_ in some kind of will at some point?

Belmont Sr. hummed and looked them over. “How drunk are you?” he asked finally.

“Not so drunk that I won’t stab you if you try to carry me,” Eskel replied without ever opening his eyes.

Bizarrely, this only seemed to make Belmont Sr.’s amusement grow.

“Your threats are adorable.” Belmont Sr. didn’t sound patronizing in the least. It was as if he actually was charmed by the threat of being stabbed. “You’re very cute when you’re grumpy”---that made Eskel crack open his eyes to scowl at him---“though I’m surprised you’re still in such a bad mood. Were my attentions earlier today not pleasant enough for you?”

The fight seemed to drain right out of Eskel and he went a little more boneless. If anything, though, he just looked more depressed. His shoulders sagged and there was an unhappy twist to his mouth.

“Hmm. Subpar booze,” Belmont Sr. muttered softly, his eyes watching every little detail of Eskel’s movement. He hadn’t once bothered to even look at Matt or John. While that might have been considered rude, Matt found himself grateful rather than offended. “My Son should have been better stocked.”

“I’m already on remedying the situation, sir,” John spoke up. “You needn’t concern your son with the issue.”

Matt shot John a grateful look. The more they could divert negative attention away from Trevor, the better.

“How very efficient of you.” Belmont Sr.’s praise sounded more ominous than appreciative, and his gaze barely flickered to John before it was back to Eskel and Iga. “Come. It is time for sleep,” he said, and waved Eskel and Iga up.

Eskel went back to scowling, but Iga was already standing up. She pulled Eskel right along with her and deftly shifted one of his arms over her shoulders, supporting him. He pulled away a little from her, staggering back a step.

“I’m not that drunk. I don’t need help walking,” he grumbled.

“But isn’t it more pleasant to have an arm around me?” Iga said in a soft, sultry voice, and pulled his arm back to wrap around her waist. “I daresay I’ve had a fair bit to drink, too. I wouldn’t mind a strong arm to help me.”

That seemed to mollify Eskel somewhat, but by the raise of his eyebrow he wasn’t totally buying in to her excuse. She certainly had looked fairly sloshed up until that point, but now it was hard to gauge. 

Before they could take a step forward, Belmont Sr. was right there sliding into the space in front of them. He put a hand on Eskel’s neck, wrapping it around right under the base of his skull. The gesture was almost like the one that Matt had seen the first time Eskel showed up at the hospital; it was both possessive and eerily intimate. Now Matt knew it was because the two were close. Close enough that Belmont Sr. was pursuing Eskel as a lover. Avidly, apparently.

From the look on Eskel’s face, he maybe wasn’t totally opposed to the idea. 

“My witcher,” Belmont Sr. rumbled. Again, there was a burning satisfaction in his voice that was hard to ignore. “Come upstairs and rest. Iga can come too, keep you warm.”

The way he said that made Matt really think about how much value Belmont Sr. placed on Eskel. As skilled and obviously trusted as Iga was, she was still just the prop to keep Eskel more comfortable. That could have been part of Belmont Sr.’s seduction tactics or just an expression of his opinion of Iga, but somehow Matt didn’t think so. They’d talked a lot about how much Belmont Sr. treasured his son and Geralt. From what was just said, though, it seemed like Eskel was just as important. Matt filed that bit of information away to worry about later.

Tension ran through Eskel’s body and the muscle in his jaw jumped. “Your son going to be alright with that?”

Given how Trevor had actually _growled_ at Matt the other day when he had tried to help Eskel sit up, that was probably a very valid question. 

Belmont Sr. ran his thumb across the joint of Eskel’s jaw. Something about that move was profoundly creepy to Matt. Maybe it was because he knew that Belmont Sr. both owned Eskel and was also trying to seduce him. Maybe it was the blatant claim in the movement; as if he knew that Eskel wouldn’t, or couldn’t, tell him no. Whatever it was, it made Matt deeply uncomfortable in a way that had nothing to do with public displays of affection.

“He’ll be relieved to have you in sight while you rest, and pleased to see you being taken care of,” Belmont Sr. responded easily. “As am I.”

After a moment of consideration, Eskel nodded. Then he and Iga moved towards the elevator with very little evidence of a drunken stagger. Maybe they were already burning it off. The very thought of them shaking off that much liquor was mind-boggling.

Before Matt or John could move, Belmont Sr. turned to them and smiled. It was utterly terrifying. For a moment, Matt could have sworn that his eyes glowed a little. It had to be a trick of the light, though. Just an odd flash from a reflection.

“You two did well, watching over what is _mine_,” Belmont Sr. said, his voice low and quiet.

Then Belmont Sr. turned and followed Iga and Eskel into the elevator.

Matt didn’t breathe easy until the elevator was gone, and even then it took an extra minute or two. He rubbed his face in his hands. There was a faint sound of movement as John slumped down in his chair. 

“Do you think he tries to be that creepy? Or does it just happen,” John mused.

“Guys like that don’t need to try,” Matt said, still mildly disturbed by what he just watched. 

He really had to wonder what, if anything, Eskel got out of his association with Belmont Senior. Matt hoped it was something good. Being the focus of a man like Gabriel Belmont couldn’t be comfortable.

“It is ass o’clock in the morning, and I have to organize some ridiculously expensive top shelf spirit to replace what they just guzzled down,” John bitched quietly.

“Ug. I have to go through and fix everything in those offices,” Matt said, joining in.

“Maybe a note from Trevor, telling them that he’s been so pleased with their work that he’s decided to upgrade them. As a secret surprise.”

That made good sense. A little on the creepy side, maybe, but it might both impress the board with Trevor’s resourcefulness as well as remind them that they have no secrets here that he cannot find out. As far as Matt was aware, Bioquimek’s board was filled with relatively trustworthy people. Or as trustworthy as executives got, anyways. Matt and John could twist this situation to Trevor’s advantage.

“I’ll get a cleaning crew,” John said, standing up. “And get the booze, and the notes.”

“I’ll fix whatever locks were broken, and work on getting those fucking security codes changed.” Matt snarled out that last little bit. Now he knew why Iga was so eager to sleep with him and all of his people. “I may have to fire a few people on my staff. I’ll start sending out feelers for replacements.”

John just waved tiredly at him. “Sounds like a great plan. I’m gonna go...do this. Then sleep in my office for a couple hours before the day starts.”

Matt sighed in resignation because he knew he’d be doing the same thing himself. “Yeah,” he said with a nod, and stood up too. Then he yawned, wide and long. God, but it had been a long day already.

“I’ll send someone with coffee for you,” John said, already typing a message into his phone. 

“You’re a life saver.”

As fucked up as the night had been and despite the clean up they had to do, Matt considered the endeavor a success. He’d gotten a ton of information and he’d found a massive security leak. 

He tried to remind himself of that as he yawned his way through the next several hours.

\---

When Vesemir woke up the morning after the negotiations with King Henselt, it was with more enthusiasm and energy than he expected. He wanted to worry about what this new political situation would bring them all but he couldn’t help but think about the excitement of his race with Orlaith. The way Blue Streak moved under him, and how their minds joined in the mad gallop up to Kaer Morhen. The sound of Orlaith laughing breathlessly next to him and the sparkle of her sea green eyes in the dim shadows of the forest.

It had been a long time since Vesemir had felt such a light, bubbly sensation as this. 

That didn’t stop him from being a little nonplussed when he opened his eyes to discover that Orlaith was curled up next to him in her cat form. When he thought she was just a cat, Vesemir didn’t care much at all if she slept with him. She was a _cat_. But now he knew that she was much more than that. Every time he’d changed clothes, every bath, every random muttering to himself. She was watching and listening to all of that.

His face burned as he tried to figure out just what to say or do. Did he pet her on the head? He would have if she was just a cat. But now that he knew she was more, would that still be appropriate? It didn’t seem appropriate. He rubbed his face and groaned remembering how he petted her belly and how she sprawled out to let him.

The noise must have woken her, because Orlaith cracked open her eyes and glared at him. 

“Hello,” he said after a moment of hesitation. She made a tiny trill at him and stretched out. Her black paws flexed out, with her tiny toes spread. The move ended with a wide yawn that had her small pink tongue curling hilariously. Then she stood up and arched her back and stretched her back paws. 

She sat down and looked at him, very obviously ready for the day.

Vesemir shook his head a little and smiled. “Work to be done, eh?” He glanced over his room, thinking over everything that needed to be taken care of. It was still odd knowing that it was morning time, yet not seeing the sun’s rays shining in from the window because of the castle walls. “I should check in on that witcher. He should be awake soon, if he isn’t already.”

He got up and gathered up his clothes for the day and headed over to the bathing room, with Orlaith meandering behind as she usually did. When he got to the baths he stopped to look at her, then look at the baths. Then back to her.

She stared back at him.

“If you’ll excuse me, m’lady.” He waved a hand towards the door.

She sat down where she stood, watching him and then lowered herself, folding in her paws into that loaf-of-bread shape that cats did, clearly preparing to observe Vesemir in his morning ablutions. 

_Of course_, Vesemir thought with no little resignation. 

He thought the matter through for a moment. It wasn’t anything she hadn’t already seen. But it also wasn’t seemly for a courtship. As a witcher, he didn’t often care about what was ‘polite’, but he also had severe reservations about being ogled like a piece of meat. He flat refused such attentions from the succubi and the incubus; it was obvious they only wanted sex. 

But it seemed a little ignoble to just pick her up and toss her out like a barn cat.

So instead he grabbed a towel and tossed it over her head, then stripped out of his clothes and slid into the hot bath.

He felt the shiver of magic more than saw it. It was still bizarre to feel the tingle of magic but not have his Wolf medallion react. When he was chest deep in the water, he turned to look at her and wasn't surprised to see her sitting on the floor, naked, wrapping the towel he threw at her over herself. 

“Good morning,” he said amicably. “Did you sleep well?”

“You witchers are very good at being heating pads.” She finished wrapping the towel tightly and looked up at him. “It’s very pleasurable.”

A light blush burned at his cheeks, and he grabbed a washcloth to start cleaning himself. “Nothing like a warm body in a comfortable bed.” 

Orlaith came closer and sat down on the edge of the bathing pool, letting her feet into the water. She watched his movements with the same focus she had in her animal form.

“The witcher we acquired is alive and on the mend,” she said as she moved her legs in the water. Her knee brushed his arm as she moved. “I checked on him during the night.”

“Ah, good,” Vesemir said with relief. “I imagine that Lambert took care of him once Night dropped him off, but I should see how that’s going. I have potions I can give him, if Lambert hasn’t already.” He rubbed the cloth across his chest and hummed in thought. “And maybe see what he was up to when he got captured.” 

“Apparently the witcher is big enough that Lambert was cursing up a storm every time he needed to move him. Ian is very excited.” Orlaith slid into the water. Her pale hair soaked up the liquid like a wick and darkened into almost a light brown color.

She put her hand on Vesemir’s and tugged at the washcloth he forgot he was holding when he saw her move. When he didn’t let go right away, she tugged harder.

He waited until she made a tiny, frustrated sigh before he let her have the cloth. 

She added more soap to it, making more lather.

“He’s a tough one, this witcher. Apparently the first words he said to Lambert were to ‘fuck off’. It’s probably all he said to Henselt’s interrogators, too.”

That made Vesemir laugh. “Yeah. I bet it was. Witchers aren’t trained specifically to resist torture, but we might as well have been. We go through worse on the Path.”

“Henselt’s people were very thorough,” she murmured, placing the cloth against the back of Vesemir’s neck and slowly dragging it over his shoulders. Pleasurable little shivers raced across his skin.

“Bastards,” Vesemir muttered, now completely distracted. “I’m glad we got him.” He hummed for a moment, slowly relaxing under the cloth’s movement across his shoulders. “Kaer Morhen has always been open to any witcher who wants to visit, though we all mostly keep to our specific schools. Now that it’s obvious where Kaer is...it might be worth it to send out word that they’ll find a safe place to sleep here. Henselt isn’t a forgiving man. Deal or not, he’ll find ways to make life uncomfortable for any witcher wandering through.”

As nice as the washing felt, he didn’t want it to go too far, too quickly. Vesemir retrieved the cloth from Orlaith and added some more soap to it. Then he looked to her shoulders. “May I?”

She smiled and reached for her towel.

Vesemir shook his head. “Just your shoulders and hair.”

She sighed.

“You humans are so strange.” Then she turned around and unwound her towel, throwing it to the edge of the pool.

“Not all of us witchers are so sex obsessed.” Vesemir began to slowly wash her neck and back. Then he thought about the rest of the wolf witchers and muttered, “Just most of us…”

She laughed. He could feel it under his hand. Gods, she was so skinny. His hand could spread over most of her back. The bones of her spine poked under her skin and he could count each and every rib. He was struck with the unreasonable urge to feed her, to do something to cover her bones in more than just skin.

Happily, Orlaith had always seemed to enjoy every food offering he gave her. That made more than one idea pop up into his head.

He grabbed a little shampoo from its resting place off to the side of the bath and started to lather up her hair. “Once I check in on our guest, shall I make you breakfast?”

“I could eat,” she agreed, humming softly under his touch.

“What do you enjoy eating?” He was genuinely curious. Orlaith was a demon and Vesemir had no doubt that she ate what most demons did. Meat.

“Demons,” she sighed wistfully.

Interesting. He nodded. “I’m afraid I’m fresh out. Will human food suffice?”

“I’m interested in trying it out. The things you gave me so far were very tasty.”

That was very good to hear. Vesemir found himself looking forward to coming up with new things for her to try.

“Have you thought where you want the public gate to be?” Orlaith asked, letting her head fall back into his hands. It felt strange, knowing he was the one that took the weight now. Strangely moving.

He hummed for a moment, and then nodded. “If you’re asking for my advice, I can point out a couple of spots. I know this valley well...or I did.” Now that there were lava vents and walls, he wasn’t so sure. “I haven’t had a chance to really take a good look at where the walls cross what used to be there. We could take a ride out and look? If you have interest.”

Gods, but it had been a long time since he’d last courted anyone. Going on outings was a courting thing to do, wasn’t it? Pleasant rides. He could pack a picnic. Would she even care for such things?

He shook his head, and scratched over her scalp. “I’m not very good at this, m’lady. I haven’t pursued anyone in a very long time. You’ll have to let me know what you would enjoy doing with me as we get to know each other.”

“This is new for me too,” she said, running her hands through the water. “Demons have…different rituals.”

“Tell me about them?” he asked, intensely curious.

“It’s a competition, a hunt, the winner goes home with more power, more influence. It’s a violent process in all, though very pleasurable for the winner. Humans are different.”

“Yes,” he agreed. There was a moment of quiet as he continued to gently rub the soap out of her hair. “Human courtship varies a lot depending on culture. For many, it is a matter of proving that one is capable of supporting their desired mate, be that with power or physical strength or...whatever they think is important. This holds more true for arranged courtships or nobles. For those who don’t need to marry for political gain, there is also a great deal of trying to understand one’s potential mate. To see if they would be a good match, a worthy partner.”

“I like your power,” Orlaith said. “It is extremely pleasing to the eye.” She paused. “And to touch.”

Again, his cheeks heated up a little. He had to narrow his eyes in speculation, though. “Are you being literal? Mages, demons, and other creatures have tangible power. Witchers are...” He paused to huff in amusement. “So beneath them in magical power that it is laughable. My skills in particular are not focused on that, either.”

She laughed out loud then, turning to look at him from the corner of his eye.

“I can feel it, the presence of you. Out of the witchers I have seen, Eskel’s presence is the most powerful. It…thrums, almost too intensely to consider touching. But it’s unquiet, shifting, and too disturbing for me. Geralt’s is strong, but now firmly tied to my Lord. Lambert is the least ethereally active out of you all, but that makes him oddly pleasant to be around. You feel smooth as silk,” she purred and reached up her hand, catching his wrist. With a slight turn of her body, she slid her hand up to feel his biceps. “This also is very nice to touch.”

Vesemir caught her hand, but held it there against his arm. He ran one of his fingers against hers, just taking in the softness of her skin and how delicate her nails looked. 

“Eskel’s signs are the most powerful out of all of ours, though Geralt’s have changed since he made his deal with Dracula. I’m far better with blades, but I have been practicing my craft for a long time. There are no rough edges to my magic.” He brought her hand up so he could lay a delicate kiss at her fingertips. “I have made the most of my modest abilities. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that you can feel what little magic I have.”

“It’s not the quantity but quality that matters,” she said with a small smile. “But you aren’t lacking in either anyway.”

A warm smile spread across his face, and he pressed a second tiny kiss to her fingers. “Kind of you to say. Your power is beyond impressive. I’m afraid I don’t have the abilities to even truly grasp it.” 

“My power is boundless inside the castle, not so much outside it. It is why I was such a good choice for my Lord's needs.”

Vesemir nodded. That made sense.

She sank under the water, the shampoo and soap spreading in the water around them in a growing circle, before she broke the surface again and walked out of the pool. He watched her too-slim, yet still graceful figure step out of the pool. The edges of her form shimmered and shifted as a floor length dark green dress with trailing sleeves forming itself around her.

Lovely. 

Quickly, Vesemir finished his own washing, giving his hair a quick scrub and ducking under the water to rinse. Once he was done he stepped out of the bath to dry off and change into his clothes and armor. He tried to ignore how Orlaith watched him with interest, though he couldn’t stop the slight heat on his cheeks. 

It was only fair. He’d watched her get dressed, too.

Once his swords were settled into place, he opened the door for Orlaith and gave a slight bow. 

She smiled at him and stepped out of the bath chamber, her footsteps soundless on the stone floor.

“Do you know anything about the witcher? Who he is? Where he’s from?” he asked as they walked.

She shook her head.

“He was dressed only in rags they hastily put on him, none of the gear I expected a witcher to have. No pendant either.”

Vesemir snarled to himself. Of all the things for a witcher to have taken, their school medallion was the worst. 

“He’s not a Wolf witcher. I would have recognized him. I helped train every Wolf for more than the past two centuries.” He sighed. “Not that I think any of the rest are alive. Sometimes I hope, but, eh. It’s been far too long. No, this one has to be from one of the other schools.”

Maybe there was some way he could get the witcher’s medallion back. Or find another to replace it. That happened occasionally. Vesemir wouldn’t give the man a Wolf medallion, though he had extra. They were all tokens of fallen brothers; more a memorial than any gravestone could ever be. 

He puzzled over the problem all the way to guest room where he figured Lambert would have set the visitor up in. 

Sure enough, the man was awake, though only barely from the looks of it. His eyes were just cracked open as he watched them enter the room.

Vesemir remembered only the barest details of him from the night before. He couldn’t let Henselt see how much seeing another witcher tortured so viciously affected him, so he barely glanced at the crumpled mass of flesh, blood and rags. Now he had a chance to fully admire the sheer size of the man on the bed in front of him.

He was shaved clean, a choice a lot of witchers eventually made; it was just easier to keep things clean that way. There were old scars on his scalp, a triangular shape that looked strangely deliberate. 

He was so big he barely fit in the guest bed Lambert put him in, and his shoulders and chest bulged with muscle. He was a little darker in coloring than most Northerners; his skin was more golden brown than deathly pale as the Wolf Witchers tended to get. At least under the bruising and bandages Vesemir could see.

The man grunted at them as soon as they walked in. A greeting, maybe. Or perhaps all he could manage of one, anyways.

Vesemir walked up and took a seat next to the bed. Looming over the laid up witcher would make neither one of them feel comfortable. 

“I am Vesemir, of the Wolf school. Welcome to Kaer Morhen,” he said. He waved a hand towards Orlaith, and then pulled out another chair for her from where it was nestled next to the bedside table. “This is Orlaith, Steward of Dracula’s castle.”

“How did I get here?” The man’s cat eyes flicked open just a little, enough to lock on Vesemir before he had to close them again. He wasn’t sure the man ever really saw Orlaith.

“Henselt gave you to us, as a goodwill gesture,” Vesemir replied evenly. “He said he ‘stumbled across a wounded witcher’. But I’m inclined to believe that isn’t nearly the whole story.”

The man laughed, or at least tried to if the wet, gurgling sound was any indication.

Vesemir sniffed the air. Under the scent of blood, the man smelled of Swallow. So Lambert had already dosed him. It would likely wear off in a few hours, given what he knew of Lambert’s alchemy skills. Vesemir would have something a little more potent for the man waiting for him then. Lambert was a genius at mixing things that would get even the most enhanced of them utterly drunk in under three drinks, but Vesemir had been honing his potion craft for a long time. His version of Swallow had a few extra side benefits that might come in handy. 

“Full goddamn garrison hounded me for almost a day,” the witcher said, his breath still wheezing and gurgling worryingly.

Vesemir scowled. That was just like how Lambert had been nearly captured. If it wasn’t for Night picking him up, Vesemir might be looking at one of his boys in this sorry state, too. He’d have to get Night something special as a thank you. “They had questions for you, didn’t they. Things you didn’t know the answers to.”

“Yeah, about a demon city I had no idea of.” 

The man obviously couldn’t move much but the way he looked around the room was clear enough. Something about the way his eyebrows quirked and his lips twisted told Vesemir that the man could feel the demonic energy around them. He knew he was in the very city he’d been questioned about. 

“Not that it matters.” The witcher did an admirable effort at a shrug. “I wasn’t inclined to admit the sky was blue, much less tell him anything about a city I have never even seen.”

A small smile tugged at Vesemir’s lips. That was exactly the response he would expect from a witcher and it made him proud of his kind all over again.

“Reasonable,” Vesemir said with a nod. “What name can I call you by?”

“Letho of Gulet.”

It did not escape Vesemir’s attention that the man didn’t say his school. That was fine. The proof of his mutation was obvious in his eyes, his endurance, and his ability to take their potions with few ill effects. It was natural for Letho to be a bit cagey, given the week he’d had. Being presented to a strange witcher who had a demon at his side couldn’t be reassuring either.

So Vesemir held his questions on that matter. There would be time enough for them later anyways. 

“You think you can drink another potion? How are you handling the toxicity?”

“I could drink five more of those Lambert gave me and not hit my limits.”

_Interesting_.

Vesemir had to wonder if that was a personal modification, or one typical to Letho’s school.

He searched through his belt and came up with two vials. One was another Swallow. The other was White Raffard’s Decoction. The Decoction would heal a great deal of his wounds instantly and the Swallow would increase his natural regeneration. The Decoction was very toxic. It functioned as an emergency potion usually. But if Letho said he could handle a great deal more, than there was no reason to hold it back.

He started with the Decoction first, breaking the seal and holding the vial up for Letho to see.

“White Raffard’s Decoction,” he said, and then held it out to Letho.

Letho took it from him. His fingers were thick and scarred, and shaking as he struggled to hold the tiny vial. He sniffed it and then downed it all in one go with no hesitation at all.

He paused afterwards and licked his lips, as if cataloging the flavor of the pungent brew.

“Interesting,” Letho rasped. “I don't know the recipe but it seems to be quite efficient. I already feel better.”

“I’m willing to trade recipes with you once you’re feeling better,” Vesemir replied easily. He held up the second vial. “Want another Swallow?”

“Yeah,” Letho nodded. “There’s still holes in me that need patching.”

Vesemir opened the vial up. This particular version of the potion would help restore some endurance as well as keep the healing going. It took skill and a fair amount of picky mixing of ingredients, but Vesemir enjoyed creating potions that had multiple effects. His version was also enhanced in comparison to what the other boys used. That was a recent development he hadn’t yet had the time to teach them. No doubt Letho needed the help, too.

When he passed the open potion to Letho, the man definitely had less trouble picking it up. That made a curl of satisfaction settle in Vesemir’s gut. He liked making sure everyone in his keep was taken care of, and liked to see his fellow witchers looked after even more. It probably was the teacher in him. 

He cast a careful eye over Letho’s form and was again struck just how big the man was; a veritable ox in human skin. Vesemir kind of itched to see how well he fought and what kind of signs he used.

A nice training session would be very interesting.

Letho didn’t seem to be affected by the potion toxicity even though he took more of them in a row than Vesemir would dare. Most of the open wounds were either bandaged or already healed. Scars old and new littered his body the way that was so common to all witchers.

“You are safe within the keep,” Vesemir said carefully. He needed to make sure Letho knew that. But at the same time, he needed to ensure that the keep’s…other…inhabitants were safe as well. As much as Dracula promised safety from his minions, Vesemir wasn’t keen on testing it by deliberately attacking them. 

“But?” It seemed that Letho wasn’t just big, but smart, too. 

“But there are many beings here that are not human or witcher. They are not to be attacked, and they will not attack you.” Vesemir thought about poor Ian, desperate for a good fuck. “Point of fact, a few of them are rather friendly,” he added dryly.

“She one of them?” Letho looked to Orlaith briefly then back to Vesemir.

Vesemir raised his eyebrows for a moment, and then looked to Orlaith. “Are you friendly?” he asked her with some amusement.

“Not in the least,” Orlaith answered easily. “But I am bound by my Master’s wishes, and He is very fond of witchers.”

Vesemir waved a hand to Letho, as it to say _there you have it_. “Only a few stay in Kaer Morhen, and those that are here you will find to be at least polite. But now…” Vesemir sighed a little and tried not to fondly imagine braining Dracula with a clay bowl. “Now Dracula’s castle surrounds us and his city is full of his minions.”

“Wolf witchers live with demons?” Letho sounded dry. At least he wasn’t outright hostile. Vesemir was aware that could be a possibility.

“We do now, when we are not out on the Path. What few of us are left.” Vesemir knew how it sounded. Oh, did he know. 

“So, you still hunt,” Letho said. Vesemir couldn’t read Letho’s low voice. “Just not close to home?”

“Those demons who live within the castle walls do not prey on humans. They live on their lord’s power alone. Nor will there be any excursions out to make trouble for our neighbors.” 

“How can you be sure nobody sneaks out for a midnight snack?” Letho sounded doubtful.

That was a fair question, and one that was worth asking. Instead of answering it himself, Vesemir turned to Orlaith.

“What would happen if any denizens of the city left to go on a little hunt of our neighbors?” 

“I thought it was made clear before,” Orlaith said with a frown. “My Master has stripped his subjects of their free will. Disobedience is not unlikely, it’s merely impossible.” Then she paused. “At least for Castle dwellers. I can’t really say for conquered realms. But seeing as they can’t travel here without my Master’s help that’s a moot point.”

Vesemir nodded. “That’s what I thought, but it’s helpful to be certain.” He turned to look at Letho and tilted his head, curious to see how the witcher would react.

Orlaith leaned closer and looked Letho over from head to foot, much like a butcher studying a cow carcass before cutting out the best pieces. “The succubi and incubi will feed on sexual energy but not life force, making them safe to indulge with if you find yourself so inclined. They have been complaining incessantly about lack of entertainment.”

“Night the Mare may also visit your dreams,” Vesemir added. “But she, too, won’t do damage. She knows we need our energy.”

“Night the Mare,” Letho said flatly.

“I know.” Vesemir gave him a tired look. “You’ll likely hear her in the courtyard.” 

He stared out the window for a moment, listening vainly for Night’s inevitable antics. His own mutations weren’t focused on enhancing that sense, but perhaps Letho’s were. Vesemir’s mind wandered to how strange this all must seem to an outsider. Even after months of getting used to his new way of life, Vesemir still felt surprised from time to time. 

“Oh, there’s also the fire elemental that lives in the baths, but his purpose is to warm the water for the bathing pool, so don’t mind him.” Vesemir sighed. “The hot baths every day without lugging innumerable buckets of hot water are really nice.”

“A fire elemental,” Letho repeated, with no discernable expression in his voice. “Serving as a heater.”

“Yeah, well…” Then Vesemir remembered the moat. “There’s also Frank in the moat. Just don't go anywhere close to him. He doesn't seem too smart but he doesn’t venture out of the moat, so he’s no danger to anyone in the keep.”

“You’ve got a monster in the moat, too?” Letho still sounded deadpan, but his eyes did get a tad wider.

“It’s been a very strange year,” Vesemir added absently. 

“Year? So it wasn’t like that always?”

“No.” There was a wealth of meaning in that word. How could he describe the endless years living in Kaer Morhen’s rubble, of counting his brothers on one hand and having fingers left over. Or the bizarre circumstances that brought all of these creatures of darkness slowly but surely into their lives. 

Some part of Vesemir thought he likely couldn’t call Kaer Morhen a proper witcher keep anymore. There were too many others here and they were too magical and dark in nature. But at the same time, Kaer Morhen felt alive now in a way it hadn’t for decades. And despite the changes, it still served witchers. Served them differently, maybe, but change was inevitable with life.

He turned his attention back to Letho. How this witcher reacted would be a good indicator of what he could expect in the future.

“I will be well behaved towards your non-witcher inhabitants but I reserve the right to defend myself,” Letho said after a moment.

“That is fair,” Vesemir said with a nod, though he tried to keep the relief he felt under wraps. While he was prepared to deal with Letho being uncooperative, it was good to know he wouldn’t have to. “Are you feeling well enough to join us in the kitchen for breakfast?”

Letho blinked at him.

“Provided I’m not the intended breakfast.”

Vesemir snorted in amusement, and thought of Ian again. “I’ll make sure to tell the sex demons to give you a minute to get your stamina back.”

Then he stood up and went to rustle through one of the chests along the walls. He kept a variety of extra clothes here for just such an occasion. There was no telling who might show up with their clothes shredded, although the Wolf witchers at least had their own supply of goods in their rooms.

He laid the extra garments on the end of the bed and went to offer his arm to Orlaith. She took his offer and stood up, grace incarnate, but her eyes lingered on Letho. Something in her gaze reminded him of the cat she sometimes looked like. There was a predatory quality to it. 

“We’ll give you some privacy while you change,” Vesemir said.

Orlaith turned to look at him and her brow furrowed. “Why?”

“Because some people don’t like an audience when they dress,” he responded dryly.

“How many times do I have to tell you, you have nothing to be ashamed of.” Orlaith moved her eyes up and down Vesemir’s body, and a slight wrinkle formed between her pale eyebrows.

He sighed, and felt a slight heat touch his cheeks. “It’s a matter of comfort. Witchers are often used to being alone. Watchful eyes and _commentary_ as Iga, Eyra, and Ian are prone to give, is not always welcome.” He nodded towards the door and raised an eyebrow.

“If you say so.” Orlaith sounded doubtful but let herself be led out.

They waited in the hall for a couple minutes, both of them listening to Letho shift and move inside the room. 

Vesemir fully expected Letho to take a minute to search the room for weapons. There were a couple of daggers in there that would surely find their way into Letho’s possession. That was intentional. If Letho had a couple of blades on him, he would feel much more at ease. More so if he could don them in privacy. It was always comforting to have a secret blade or two.

He could barely hear Letho, and even that he suspected was because of the fact he was wounded. For such a big man he moved remarkably quietly. The only sound Vesemir was absolutely sure of was the creak of the bed when Letho got up. After that, there was a creak of the chest’s top being lifted and the barest rustle of cloth as he dressed.

When Letho finally stepped out of the room, Vesemir had to blink at him. He wore no shirt, just a leather vest. Looking at him standing upright like this, Vesemir had to admit that they simply didn't have any clothes that would fit him. None of the living Wolf witchers were built quite that big. The dark, faded pants that Letho had donned fit better, though they seemed ready to burst they were so stretched around his thighs.

The burns and cuts all over what could be seen of his chest were more than half healed but they still looked bad. It was clear that he’d been burned with a hot iron; the marks were spread out carefully, to maximise the damage. The man’s arms were still bruised heavily. The circular marks that ran around them were a clear indication of how he’d been chained. 

There was swelling and bruising around his shoulders that indicated that at some point both limbs had been violently dislocated, damaging the outer layer of the joints. Likely the only reason he was capable of moving his arms at all was because he was a witcher. A normal human would have been crippled.

Vesemir couldn’t see Letho’s back or his belly, but something in the way he held himself made Vesemir believe he must have many more injuries hidden under the vest.

A brief spike of rage rose up inside Vesemir at the sight of all that damage. For a moment, all he wanted to do was go and take his ire out on whatever was left of Henselt’s army outside. They were many, but Vesemir was experienced and crafty. He could find his way in and have a third of them bleeding their hearts out into the dirt before he was even noticed. If it were any of his boys hurt like this, he wouldn’t have hesitated.

He wrestled the impulse back and took a breath. Then he forced his body to loosen and relax. The situation was already in hand and throwing a tantrum wouldn’t help any of them.

But perhaps he could convince Night to ferry him back and forth from Henselt’s dungeons for a night. Just to visit those who made the marks on Letho. 

Later. For now there were other matters to deal with.

“We’ll find something better fitting for you after the meal,” Vesemir said with a bit of a grimace, eyeing the too-tight clothes.

Letho shrugged, very carefully. “I’m used to clothes not fitting right. Get me something sleeveless and I’ll be good.”

“Noted.”

Vesemir led the way to the kitchen. He pointed out the direction to the privies and bathing room as they went, for future reference, and made sure to move at an easy pace.

Lambert was waiting for them in the kitchen along with Eyra and Ian. Ciri, Palo, and Mika had left the previous night, so the keep was a little on the empty side once more.

“Oh,” Eyra said, looking right over Vesemir’s shoulder at Letho slowly but surely following behind them. “Is he from the Bear school?”

“Excellent question,” Vesemir said as he guided Orlaith courteously to a seat.

“Why would you think I’m a Bear?” Letho asked. His voice was low and as devoid of emotion as before. He looked over everyone in the kitchen, seemingly unaffected by the deep neckline of Eyra’s dress or Ian’s pretty face and flowing shirt.

“Our local incubus was anxious to meet one,” Lambert said with a smirk. “Ever since Vesemir promised him that Bears were fond of merrymaking.”

“I promised nothing,” Vesemir said sourly, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You promised to take us for a trip to Bear school!” Eyra sounded offended. “You said they were big!” Then she turned to Letho and smiled sweetly at him. “This one is plenty big.”

She was not, however, looking at anything above Letho’s waistline while she said that.

“No, I threatened to run away from all of you heathens and prayed that maybe the Bear school would accept a poor, harried Wolf. It’s not my fault you hear the word ‘cudgel’ and can only think filthy thoughts,” Vesemir said with a sigh. “Gods, and _you_ are just encouraging them.” He pointed at Lambert and glared.

“We wouldn’t need to if you only took care of us better,” Ian muttered. 

“Not interested, I’m afraid,” Vesemir said, though a little bit of sympathy leaked into his voice. “Eyra, Ian, this is Letho. Give him a bit to catch his breath before you try to jump him.” 

Both demons turned to Letho, blinking coquettishly at him.

“Nice to meet you, Letho,” they chorused like school children from hell.

Vesemir poked his head inside the pantry and started to gather up ingredients, unwilling to watch this particular meeting unfold. From the looks of the kitchen, Lambert, Ian, and Eyra had already eaten. Still, he’d make extra anyways. Witchers could eat a lot, especially healing ones. There was bread already on the table and he added a block of butter to that, and got to work chopping potatoes. After a moment, Lambert and Eyra joined him, though Erya was intensely distracted by Letho.

“Hello,” Letho sounded cautious but oddly neutral.

“Oh,” Ian sighed dreamily. “You are a nice one.”

That made Letho laugh.

“Not something I am called often,” Letho said, sounding much warmer.

Huh, apparently even Letho liked compliments. Good. Maybe this would work out to everyone’s satisfaction, and Vesemir would get a little peace from Ian’s sad, mournful gaze.

“Is the army gone?” Vesemir asked. Orlaith would know. Now that he had tended Letho, Vesemir could spare a bit of brain power to worry about it.

“No,” Orlaith said from the sunny spot beside the window. “They only rearranged themselves around the walls. A little farther away, perhaps, but still present.”

“Hmmmm.” That wasn’t entirely a surprise. It had only been a few hours, after all. It still rankled, and stirred up uncomfortable memories. “What’s the new spread look like?”

“Less like they are preparing an immediate attack and more like they are settling in for the long haul. They are starting to build up the camp.”

Vesemir had to snap his teeth tightly shut to keep the growl in. This shouldn’t be a surprise. Henselt wasn’t an idiot. He’d want to keep guard on his newest neighbor, especially when the entrance of said neighbor was so spectacular. It didn’t stop Vesemir from wanting to do whatever he could do to get rid of them, just for his own peace of mind. 

“You do know I can make you an entry wherever you wish, right?” Orlaith asked, sounding amused.

Vesemir nodded, and waved a dismissive hand. “My irritation is irrational, and has nothing to do with the current situation.”

It had everything to do with what happened to Kaer Morhen years ago. When an army of screaming fanatics and bigots showed up with their hired mages and destroyed the vast majority of what Vesemir held dear in life. 

Rather than dwell on it, he focused on his task at hand. He had charges to tend to. Kaer Morhen’s destruction was ancient history, and he reminded himself that he would do well to leave it there.

“Lambert, how are the potatoes?” Vesemir asked, grabbing the egg basket from the colder corner of the pantry. Briefly he wondered if he could talk Orlaith into adding some kind of cold elemental to the pantry, to make the temperature even and reliable. It would be nice to have a place where they could freeze stuff all year round.

“Near done, you want to do the eggs?”

“I better. If you do it they’ll look more like shoe soles than eggs.” Vesemir complained. Lambert was great at frying things, but only as long as those things were suitable for long frying. Anything fragile like an egg would always end up as something only a witcher’s stomach could handle and that with a grumble.

They cooked quietly for a while, and soon enough the meal was done and spread out before them. Eyra served them all tea and the rest of the food was laid on the table, self serve style.

“What do you intend to do with me?” Letho asked, reaching for the first dish and getting himself a good portion. Vesemir was glad to see it; healing was hungry work while pain stifled the appetite.

Vesemir shrugged and took a drink of his tea, noting the delicate flavor. Eyra did a nice job brewing. 

“See you healed up, at least,” he said. “After that, you’re welcome to stay here for a while to rest and train up, or be on your way. Orlaith was kind enough to strong arm Henselt into officially granting witchers safe passage through his kingdom,” he smiled at her and bowed his head a little, “and the rest of the Northern Kingdoms will likely fall in line, too. Henselt is, ha, very invested in making that happen. So you should have no _official_ interference, though I expect some spies might get wise ideas.” 

“Safe passage through his kingdom?” Letho repeated, for once sounding affected.

“Yes. Freedom to take contracts and travel as we will, unhindered by any force in the government’s employ.” Vesemir ate careful bites in between his words. While he was sure to look casual, he kept his attention on Letho, curious about his reaction to such news.

“It’s official? An actual law? Not just a promise?” Letho asked, sounding deeply sceptical. 

Vesemir couldn’t blame him. Over the years there were plenty of rulers who wanted the witchers' help for one thing or another, always promising privileges they later denied.

“In Kaedwen it’s a treaty bound on Henselt’s soul. If he breaks it, more terrible things than you or I could imagine will befall him,” Vesemir said evenly. 

He had to admit, if only to himself, that it couldn’t happen to a more deserving ruler. Henselt was a bastard, and the wounds on Letho’s skin and the ones Lambert had just healed from didn’t make Vesemir feel charitable in the slightest. The army outside the wall didn’t help, either.

“That makes sense for Kaedwen,” Letho said. “But you said you expect other kingdoms to follow. Why would they?”

Vesemir took a moment to think over the best way to answer that. “It’s in their best interest,” he said finally. “And now Henselt is footing the bill for all their benefit.” 

“Benefit?” Letho frowned. “What do you mean?”

Vesemir glanced to Orlaith, and debated on what to say. On one hand, he didn’t really know Letho. On the other, this would be common knowledge soon enough. Another thought occurred to him. Even if Letho _did_ promptly go spread the details of Orlaith’s deal to everyone far and wide, that would likely only serve to further discourage government meddling with witchers, and potentially discourage Nilfgaard from attacking. 

Or it could spark a holy war against the demon lovers of the north. It was hard to tell.

“He’ll get access to my Lord’s demonic army in the event of Nilfgaard’s attack.” Orlaith made the choice for him, sounding fairly pleased with herself.

Letho choked on the food he was chewing and spent the next few minutes trying to cough out whatever got stuck in his throat. Vesemir sympathised. The coughing fit must have hurt like hell.

“Demon army,” Letho repeated as he finally caught his breath.

“You didn’t think a whole demon city would be empty, did you?” Vesemir asked dryly. “Though it wouldn’t really surprise me if Dracula himself showed up for a little carnage. He probably would enjoy an excuse to cut loose a little.”

“That’s...” Letho seemed lost for words. “I’m not sure Nilfgaard is even needed here.” Letho sounded astonished. “The North will implode with that kind of power imbalance.”

“Possibly.” Vesemir shrugged. “But it’s not like they can call on those troops for their own advancement. It’s only in the event of an attack.”

“We both know there can always be a situation facilitated where Nilfgaard attacks or is involved somehow.” Letho snorted. “Kill Foltest and then lo and behold, you have Nilfgaard at your gates.”

“Whoever rules the Northern Kingdoms matters little. If Nilfgaard attacks, then My Lord’s army will answer,” Orlaith said, as she scraped up the last little bit of egg off her plate. “Humans are so short-lived anyways. One dies every time you turn around.”

Vesemir focused on his meal as he thought over what Letho said. Killing Foltest was a very specific example for something Nilfgaard might do. And the way he said that _Nilfgaard might not be needed_ to help the Northern Kingdoms implode.

Again, Vesemir had to wonder why Letho was so cagey about what school he was from. The Viper school was in Nilfgaard, and Vesemir had heard they had fallen on hard times. He was well familiar with the lengths that a witcher might go to in pursuit of protecting his school, and witchers had been used as assassins in the past. The Cat school, for example, took such contracts right along with monster bounties.

Killing off Foltest would definitely send Temeria into chaos, making them easy pickings for Emperor Emhyr. On top of that, Temeria was the linchpin of the Northern Kingdoms. If it fell, several, if not all, of the other Northern Kingdoms would follow. If more rulers than Foltest died, it would only further spread the disorder, basically paving the way for an invading army.

That was all fairly wild speculation, though, and now a moot point. If the Northern Kingdoms destabilized enough, Dracula might just decide to take over himself. Or decide that conquering the world and handing it over wrapped in a nice red bow was just the thing one could give to a lover as a present.

“Can’t argue that, humans are fragile,” Letho said. “But they also multiply in numbers other creatures are just incapable of.”

Orlaith nodded to him, conceding the point.

“So,” Vesemir said, looking to Letho. “Do you want to stay for a while, rest and recover? Or are you eager to be gone?”

“I think I would prefer to stay. I’m not nearly close to being well and...” Letho looked down at himself. “I lost all my gear. Whatever weapons you can spare me, I will have to train into them.” He grimaced.

Vesemir and Lambert both grimaced with him. Nothing worse than losing all of one’s gear. 

“Kaer Morhen keeps a small armory stocked,” Vesemir said. “You’re welcome to what we have that’s extra, though I think we’ll have to do some modifying to get armor that will fit you.” He eyed Letho’s powerful build and ransacked his brain for details on what they had in stock. “Wolf witchers fight with two longswords, so we have an abundance of extras of those, though they’re nothing special. Basic blades, and I’m afraid none are silver. But I’ve kept a collection of other things, too, as I find them. What do you prefer to fight with?”

“Two swords. Doesn't matter what kind, though I like shorter ones better, and two hunting daggers.” He patted his chest carefully. “I’m broad enough to carry them in crossed sheaths on my chest.”

Vesemir nodded. “We can do that. Once you’re feeling better, we’ve a training area that you can use to brush up if you want.” He smiled, somewhat sardonically at Letho. “Once upon a time, I was the fencing master here. I’d be interested to spar with you, if you’re game.”

“Fencing master?” Letho’s eyes sparkled. “Count me in.”

A broad grin spread across Vesemir’s face. “Excellent. Lambert can join us---”

“Hey!” Lambert cast a worried glance back and forth between Vesemir and Letho.

“---And if Geralt is on his feet by then, we can all kick his ass around the salle, too.” Vesemir had not forgotten how all this was sparked by Geralt’s wandering dick. 

“Ooooh, can we watch?” Eyra asked playfully. She and Ian had been watching the exchange mostly silently until then. Though in Ian’s case he seemed to be busy imagining what debaucheries he could convince Letho to partake in, if his lecherous smirk could be taken into account.

Vesemir shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to me.”

“Geralt, you mean Geralt of Rivia? The White Wolf?” Letho asked, leaning in a bit.

“The very same,” Vesemir said with a nod. He sipped his tea and then swished around the dregs in his mug. “He’s laid up at the moment, but I am hopeful he’ll be returning to Kaer Morhen soon.”

“Laid up? Something got the drop on him?”

“Political bullshit, mostly.” Vesemir eyed Letho’s wounds. “That kind of thing is going around nowadays.”

How exactly Geralt got himself, and the rest of them by extension, involved in this mess was a bit of a tale, and one Vesemir wasn’t sure he wanted to share just yet. Something about what Letho said about Nilfgaard put him on edge. It wasn’t that he was distrustful of Letho, per se. More he hadn’t heard much of anything back from the visiting witcher so far. Maybe once the man unwound a little in return, Vesemir would consider chatting about his boys. 

Either that, or Geralt, Dracula, and Alucard would return and they could speak for themselves. No doubt they’d only be five seconds through the door before they were tongue deep in each other’s throats. At least for Dracula and Geralt. Alucard was usually far more reserved.

They’d had to devise a color coding system for the bathing room door for a reason, just to let people know when the room was occupied. One instance of walking in on all three of them in the middle of...whatever it was they liked to be in the middle of, was one too many times as far as Vesemir was concerned. 

That reminded him, he needed to explain the color system to Letho. Vesemir rubbed his face. Dear gods, how could he explain the color system without having to go into too much detail?

Well. Best just to jump in.

“On a somewhat unrelated note,” Vesemir said with a sigh. “You’ll notice the bathing room has a color plaque next to the door. If it’s turned red, it is occupied and the current users do not desire an audience or company. If it’s blue, it is occupied and the users wouldn’t mind an audience or company. If it’s green, it’s empty.” 

Eyra and Ian raised their hands like schoolchildren and chorused together: “Blue!”

“Thank you. I appreciate your cooperation,” Vesemir said to them, the soul of serious courtesy. 

“And you?” Eyra asked, bracing her elbow on the table and leaning her head on her hand. She blinked coquettishly at Letho. “What color are you?”

Letho remained quiet for a long time watching first Eyra, with her flowing golden hair and voluptuous curves, and then Ian with his billowing shirt and huge eyes. Then he shrugged.

“I don’t care, blue.”

“Oh,” Ian breathed out, looking three quarters in love already. “Oh, I hope you stay for a while.”

Vesemir snorted in amusement, and Lambert looked a little relieved. 

“Remember to give him time to sleep every once in a while,” Vesemir said. Then he proceeded to start cleaning up the various dishes and piling them in the sink to be washed. 

He paused for a moment and glanced to Orlaith, and then to Letho.

“Sometimes, you may see a black cat here. Be respectful.”

“Cat.”

“Mmmhm.” There was no way he could explain that one, so he didn’t even bother trying. “In addition to us here, a few others live in Kaer Morhen. They come and go, so I’m not sure if you’ll see them or not. Geralt and Eskel, you’ll recognize as witchers. Iga is another succubus. And there is Dracula and his son, Alucard. They’re vampires.”

“I thought you were missing a few entries from the bestiary,” Letho said dryly.

Vesemir sighed, and Lambert snickered. He knew that Letho was making a joke about all the demons wandering around, but he also couldn't even deny that he was right. Vesemir didn’t even know what lived outside of Kaer Morhen’s walls. Going out to try and see yielded no results because he was damn sure Orlaith ordered all the, so to say less _pretty_ creatures to stay out of sight.

What else should he say about Dracula and Alucard? The two of them were remarkable. And in Dracula’s case, unpredictable as well as dangerous. He felt he should offer some kind of warning, but what exactly he wasn’t sure.

“Dracula is the Lord of the city that surrounds Kaer Morhen,” Vesemir finally said. This Letho had to know. It should be warning enough to have him be cautious around the vampire. “Alucard is nowhere near as volatile as his father, but if you see an enormous wolf around the place, just give it a wide berth.” 

“I’m starting to get that,” Letho said slowly. “No witchering in witcher keep.”

“Oh I think I like you,” Lambert said with another snicker. “You’ll fit in fine.”

Vesemir just sighed again. “Basically, yes. No attacking anything in the keep, unless you are with one of us training. And be aware that...odd things happen here, from time to time.”

Letho pointed at the two sex demons watching him with wide, excited eyes.

“Odd things?” he asked, still pointing at the demons but looking at Vesemir.

Now Vesemir laughed, short and sharp. “Oh, my lad. You haven’t seen anything yet.”

\---

For all that the waiting was nerve wracking, Ciri appreciated the chance to actually rest. The events of the past week had been taxing enough that she really felt the strain when she arrived at Triss’ house. 

At this time of late winter, Vizima wasn’t a pretty place to be. Like all cities in the Northern Kingdoms, it was plagued with melting snow, mud, and dirt. It all mixed up and froze every night to become a slippery, dangerous affair every day when the sun rose. It was miserable.

After talking with Triss and delivering the latest news, she didn’t bother exploring the city. Instead she decided to get some rest in Triss' house. As a royal advisor to King Foltest, Triss earned a handsome living and could afford a house that could easily fit more guests than just Ciri. Kaer Morhen was reasonably comfortable, but the old witcher keep didn’t offer anything near the luxuries that Triss often kept at hand. 

The first day she was there, Ciri worked on additionally scrying for Triss on the Southwestern part of Temeria, keeping an eye on the inevitable fallout from Dracula’s rampage. Several of Temeria’s other court mages were doing the same thing, Ciri was certain. But she had been to Dracula’s castle. She knew what his guards looked like and how his power felt. 

To her vast relief, as far as she could tell there wasn’t any sign of him expanding into that area. The beasts and demons she _had_ seen roaming in and around the burnt lands were all lesser creatures. Nothing like the polished, powerful soldiers that served as Dracula’s house guard. 

She took what few notes she could about it, but ultimately she knew that this was mostly busy work. Triss and Yenn were both deep in their investigations about who started this whole mess, and there was little Ciri could do to aid them. So she helped out with what she could do, and waited.

The second day was when the anxiety started to settle in. Triss hasn’t been home besides a quick visit for a change of clothes and a bath before running out for more meetings. By the time Ciri was wondering if she could try and get in touch with her in the castle proper to get some kind of update, Yennefer teleported right into the garden, breaking a third of Triss' security spells in one go and giving Ciri an instant pounding headache.

“Ciri!” Yen looked as striking as always. Her long, black hair twisted into stormy curls and her violet eyes burned with power as the teleport magic faded away. 

She was dressed typically, with a long black skirt, black boots, blindingly white shirt, and black velvet vest. Her ensemble was topped off with with black, luxurious fur cloak. Ciri always did admire her taste. 

“I’m sorry, honey!” Yen rushed to Ciri, her hands already glowing green with healing magic.

When they clasped hands, Ciri felt a momentary rush of cool power sluice over her, taking away the pain. In an instant the backlash ache from all the broken wards was gone.

“Thanks, Yen,” Ciri said with a warm smile, and pulled her into a tight hug. 

That was just like Yennefer. She was incredibly powerful, to the point where she could easily disregard the boundaries other people set. She could plow through nearly any type of ward or ritual spell. But she was keen to keep a protective eye on Ciri, too. In Ciri’s mind, Yennefer was just as much a parent to her as Geralt.

“If you’re here and not just calling on a mirror, you must have found something,” Ciri said, pulling back from the embrace.

“I’m not sure how much good that will do in the end, but yes, I have news.”

“Should I send for Triss?” There was a spelled necklace around here somewhere, she was sure. Something that would let Triss know she was needed at home, but not interrupt anything she was doing too obviously. 

Yen looked back at the garden, still sparkling with leftovers of her teleport magic.

“...I think she’ll be on her way,” Yen said slowly, sounding a little bit chagrined.

Heat filled Ciri’s cheeks. She should have realized that the broken wards would get Triss’s attention better than anything else. “Yeah, I think you’re right.” Those wards were a mess; Ciri suppressed a smirk and shook her head.

“Eh, it’s still better than that time Geralt decided to get into a fight with three witch hunters and their cleric on top of Triss’s roof.”

“Oh?” Ciri didn’t know that story. “I’m guessing it didn’t end well?”

“Well, the roof would have withstood the sword, but at some point Geralt forgot that his Igni sign uses something like basic pyrokinesis, which in turn is somewhat related to telekinesis. At the time, Triss’s wards weren’t equipped to dampen that type of magic,” Yen said, her lips twisting in a fond smile.

“Oh no, he didn’t.”

“Yes, he did,” Yen said with a nod. “Set the roof on fire. Which then collapsed under the weight of four grown men in armor, and proceeded to dump debris and said men right into the basin that Triss was taking a bath in at the time.”

Ciri snickered quietly and covered her face with one hand. “Oh gods, Geralt. Really?”

“I must admit, I have never seen Triss so enraged before. I met Geralt a week later and his eyebrows still hadn’t grown back by that point.” Yen sounded very pleased at Geralt’s misfortune. “I think she cursed them, because when I saw him next they were…extra bushy.” She made expressive motions with her hands, simulating very bushy eyebrows sticking out of her face. “Very.”

The snickering turned to outright laughter as Ciri pictured it in her mind. “Somehow, I am not even surprised.” She waved a hand over to one of the seats in the parlor. “I’ve got some mulled wine warming. Want some?”

Yen nodded, still smiling to herself from the story. “Sure.”

Yen stopped before she set foot on Triss’s plush carpet and murmured something in the language all spells were written. Little flakes of blue light went over her body, making the fur cape disappear and her boots become shiny and clean again.

“You have anything to eat?” Yen asked, settling herself in one of the stuffed chairs with a sigh. “I’ve been too busy to get a proper meal yesterday. Feel like I could eat a horse.”

“Yeah. Triss keeps a good pantry.” Ciri went to go gather up some various foodstuffs. Fresh bread, fruits, cold meats, cheeses, and a few other finger foods. Stuff that wouldn’t need to be prepared. Just in case, she got enough for Triss too. When she showed up, she’d probably be hungry as well.

Yen tore a good piece of the bread off and grabbed the nearest piece of aged cheese. Then she devoured both as if she hadn’t seen food in weeks. It was probably all the magic use. As Geralt was fond of nagging about, magic required a great deal of personal energy and focus, even when the bulk of the power came from outside the caster. Ciri poured three cups of the warm wine and took a seat, letting Yen have some time to take the edge off her hunger.

Only a minute or two later, there was the telltale tingle of magic, and Triss teleported into the parlor. She was still prim and neat in her nice supple green leathers, offset by a finespun cream shirt. Her red hair had a lock or two drifting in front of her face and she looked a little on the pale, tired side. But the moment she saw Yen, the tension flowed right out of her. 

“You trampled all my alarms again,” she said, but she didn’t sound too angry about it.

“Faster than going to the palace to get you,” Yen smiled like a shark.

Triss rolled her eyes and took the glass of warm wine that Ciri offered her. Then she fell onto one of the plush chairs with a soft thud. After a sip, she sighed in appreciation and looked to Yen curiously. “You wouldn’t be here unless you got to an answer or a dead end. Which did you find?”

“Answers,” Yen said grimly. The next bite of bread she took, she practically ripped it apart with her teeth before chewing, and her eyes flashed with suppressed anger. “As suspected, Siegfried is a pious idiot. I can’t decide if he’s the perfect grandmaster of a holy order, or the worst possible choice.” She shook her head and rolled her eyes a bit. “Regardless, he had no idea about what happened. He has a schism forming under him, following Jacques de Aldersburg’s utter bigoted bullshit. I’d hoped his rhetoric would die with him, but someone else picked up the mantle. Friedrich var Steingard. And that slimy bastard wasn’t acting alone.”

Yen paused to look at Triss, and for a moment her rage was a tangible thing. “Guess who decided to fund that pathetic little worm?”

Triss shook her head, mystified. 

“Dijkstra.”

That name caused an instant reaction. Triss’ eyebrows raised in surprise and Ciri winced. Years and years ago, when Sigismund Dijkstra was head of Redanian Intelligence, he’d had a run in with Geralt and Yennefer. Ciri had never found out the details---it had happened while she was away getting some specialized training---but whatever had gone down had left both Geralt and Yen feeling extremely uncharitable towards the man. Now he was co-head of the Redanian Regency Council, along with Philippa. 

“Is it just because he hates Geralt, or did he have another goal?” Triss asked.

“Both,” Yen answered with an unhappy twist of her lips. “He’s looking to pull in Novigrad with promises of vanquishing the summoner of the Black Dragon, and wanted to see Geralt ground to dust at the same time. Friedrich thought this was a fabulous plan, and facilitated the Order’s attack.” 

“Is Philippa involved?” Triss didn’t look like she would be surprised if that was the case. Neither Triss nor Yen had great relations with Philippa either, even though they were all members of the Lodge of Sorceresses. 

“Doesn’t _look_ like it.” Yen raised her eyebrows, giving Triss a mildly knowing glance. 

“But who is to say…” Triss hummed in thought for a moment and then took another sip of her wine. Yen continued to wolf down a fair bit of cheese and bread, while Ciri waited them out. “I got news from Thaler today too,” Triss added.

“Oh?” Yen paused to take a drink.

“This is a mess, but yes. The Monstrum was being printed and passed around,” Triss started.

“You mentioned that,” Yen waved a hand at her.

“The Blue Stripes tracked down who ordered it, or at least the name,” Triss frowned for a moment. “There were several go-betweens, but a Nilfgaardian spymaster with the moniker ‘Centher’ urged on the hate.”

“I never heard of him,” Yen said, frowning. “But Nilfgaard has more spies than I have jewelry so I guess that’s not surprising.”

“No truer words were ever said,” Triss agreed, shifting to rest her feet on the small footrest and wiggling her toes. “Whenever you root out one, five more take their place. This one seems to be a head of operations, though, at least in Temeria and the surrounding countries.”

“Do you have the details written down?” Ciri asked. “I need to take this information back to Dracula in Castlevania City.”

Both Triss and Yen looked at her. Ciri could tell from the vague focus of their eyes that they were seeing Dracula’s energy on her body; the deal she’d agreed to before she went in search of Geralt and Alucard for news. She was bound to give him the names of those who ordered the hunt of Geralt, otherwise he’d have her soul. 

She would have given him the information anyways, but the words ‘I promise’ had slipped out of her mouth without even thinking about it. He’d sealed that deal before Ciri even had the chance to kick herself over the phrasing. 

In all their interactions in the past year or so, Dracula had always shown her a curious type of benevolent interest. He was courteous, almost gallant sometimes, and generally kept her comfort in mind. 

But he also watched her with a strange light in his eyes; she could never quite figure out if it was that of a cat watching a particularly colorful bug, or if it was something else. He definitely allowed her a lot of leeway and she knew it was because of Geralt. They never had a chance to actually get to know each other and looking back, she thought that might have been a misstep on her part. She liked the effect he had on Geralt, but she could sense enough of his darkness that he made her uncomfortable. 

She promised herself to make amends in the future, to try and get to know Geralt’s lovers better.

Despite Dracula’s apparent goodwill, Ciri knew that he would hold her to the deal they made. He wanted those names, and Ciri could only imagine what horrors would happen to those responsible for this mess. 

Not that she was overly concerned about that. Ciri would kill the bastards herself, if she could. But Dracula’s punishment would be far worse. It actually made her a little squeamish thinking about it.

“I’m coming with you,” Yen said firmly. “I want to talk to Dracula myself.”

Ciri pursed her lips. She couldn’t think of any reason not to bring Yen, aside from the breach of hospitality of bringing an uninvited guest to someone’s home. Plus the sheer potential for disaster of putting two people as volatile as Yen and Dracula in one place. But both Alucard and Dracula knew that Yen was basically part of their family; she was always welcome at Kaer Morhen despite the fact that she and Geralt weren’t very close anymore.

After another moment of thinking about it, Ciri nodded. “Castlevania City is...weird. Humans have advanced their technology far beyond what this world has. None of them seem to use magic, though, or even know it exists. You’ll need a cloak to blend in until we can get to Alucard’s tower. He’s left transportation near the hospital where Geralt was staying. Also, Alucard passes for human there, so we’ll need to be careful about how we speak of him. His name is Trevor Belmont there.”

Yen tilted her head to the side and narrowed her eyes. “Does Dracula pass for human there as well?”

That made Ciri snort with amusement. “Yes. _Barely_.” The smile on her face faded. “But seriously, don’t bring up the name Dracula. He did terrible things there, centuries ago. More than five hundred years have passed since he was active there and the humans of Castlevania City still fear his name.”

“Gods,” Triss muttered, and sipped her wine. “This is the person who just moved into our world.”

“Apparently, he tried to exterminate humanity once. After he dispatched an army counting half a million men, he…just went away. Humans there think they successfully killed him, so bringing up his name is not a good idea for many reasons.” 

Ciri thought of the City Scrolls and the horrors described in them, then of the temperamental but clearly caring man she’d come to know, and couldn’t connect the two.

“There are memorials everywhere for the dead. People still light candles. It’s…” She shook her head. “That land has seen a lot of strange things. And Alucard has stepped in guised as a human to help them muddle through. He’s treated like a king there. His people love him. If not for his influence there, Geralt wouldn’t have made it through.” 

That last bit made Ciri’s throat close up and her eyes sting a little. It had been days since she’d seen Geralt, and certainly in that time he would have healed a great deal more. But when she last left him, he looked so damn fragile. Bandaged and pale. Ciri grew up believing that there was nothing that could stop him, except perhaps his own ridiculous antics. As an adult, she knew better, but it was still a shock to see him so hurt. 

“Geralt…” Ciri swallowed hard. “Doesn’t look great. Hopefully he’ll be much better by now, but...” She shook her head. “This was bad. Far worse than I have ever seen him.”

“You saw him in a very bad state once,” Yen said gently. 

It was true. Ciri had clawed Geralt back from death once already. But this was so much worse.

Ciri turned to look at her, feeling the emotions raise up in her throat. The stinging in her eyes got worse and it felt like a rock had lodged in her lungs. 

“He looked terrible. He looked so terrible, Yen. They had to cut him open from neck to belly to fix what was inside him. They had to cut open his limbs to get at the smashed bones inside him. They…they pulled a whole bag of arrowheads and other debris out of him.” 

Her throat was tight and her eyes burned. She’d been trying so hard not to think of it. 

“He looked…” Words failed and and she had to stop, swallowing past the lump in her throat. “Bad,” she finished lamely, unable to express her horror at the state she’d found him in at the hospital.

She could see how her words stung both Triss and Yen. No matter what the situation was now, Ciri knew they both still cared for Geralt a great deal. 

“But Alucard and Dracula saved him, right?” Triss said finally, straightening up in her chair. “Geralt will be fine again.”

“Yes,” Ciri said, angry at herself for breaking like this. “He was already on the mend. He was conscious when I left. He’ll be all right.” She rubbed at her eyes, surprised to find stinging wetness there.

“It’s alright to be upset, you know,” Yen said softly. “It’s natural. _Normal_. The important part is, he’ll recover.” Her quiet expression hardened and sharp glint came into her eyes. “And those responsible won’t ever be in a position to do anything like this again.”

Ciri laughed, even though her throat was still a little sore. Gods, but Yen sounded so much like Dracula in that moment it was eerie. Geralt really had a type, it seemed.

“I’ll gather up my notes on what Thaler found,” Triss said and then stood up. She paused though, looking first at Yen then at Ciri. “Will you.” She paused. “I mean.” She looked down to the floor and then back to Ciri. “Will you tell him…”

“I will,” Ciri said, wanting to save Triss from having to spell it out. “I’ll pass him your love.”

It had been years since the mess with Triss and Yennefer happened, with Geralt losing his memory and Triss taking advantage. Ciri knew that was the final nail to the coffin for the relationship between Yen and Geralt, but she never knew how exactly they all resolved the issue. 

Yen and Triss belonged to the Lodge of Sorceresses together, they had to work together and they didn’t seem hostile to each other as far as Ciri could tell. Yet there were times, like now, when the awkwardness resurfaced. As much as Geralt was no longer in a relationship with either of them, both Yen and Triss still loved him. As he loved them. It made for strange and tense situations at times.

Triss nodded at her, and then headed up stairs for a moment. When she returned, she had a document tube; a carrying case for sensitive information.

“This is what I’ve been able to dig up,” she said, and handed the case to Ciri. “Thaler’s spies have been looking for Centher for a long time, and this is the closest they’ve gotten to him. It’s difficult to say if they’ll be able to find more. Not without any more clues.” 

“That’s not very encouraging,” Yen murmured. “We don’t know how Dracula will react to not having the identities delivered on a silver platter.” She reached for a piece of smoked meat. “Anything else happen?”

Triss started to laugh, though there was more than a little but of exasperation in it. She ended up rubbing her eyes and sighing. “Dracula’s Steward made a deal with Henselt. A non-aggression treaty. But that's not the best part.” The way she said _best_ made Ciri think that perhaps that wasn’t the word that Triss really wanted to use. “Henselt promised free access to his lands for all witchers, and he promised the other Northern Kingdoms would join in, too.”

“...Wait, Henselt promised that for witchers?” Yen nearly dropped her wine. “And he promised for other countries? Did the man go senile while I wasn't looking?”

“The idiot got hoodwinked. Although,” Triss paused and took a deep drink from her glass. “What he got in return was...stupidly tempting. I’ll grant that.”

“Is it me, or do Dracula’s deals always seem kind of…really damn tempting?” Ciri said. “Or obvious. Like you feel you are getting one over him by agreeing.”

“I think that’s the point,” Yen said with a dry smirk. “So tell. What ridiculous treat did Henselt sell out for?”

“Demon army,” Triss said like one delivers a bomb. 

“What?!” Yen stared at her like she grew a second head.

“Thankfully there are conditions,” Triss sighed. “The army will respond in case of Nilfgaard’s attack.” Triss rubbed her face. “Apparently, as long as witchers are all nice and safe in his lands, Dracula’s terrifying creatures will raise up from the Castle and mow down any hapless Nilfgaardian units that they can find.”

Ciri just stared at her, blinking, while Yen made a face and went back to eating.

“How did that even…” Yen shook her head. “What gave him the idea?”

“From what Henselt’s envoy said, the castle’s Steward has a thing for Vesemir.” Triss raised up her eyebrows took another drink.

Yen set the cup down with a thunk.

“Vesemir?” Her eyebrows were so high they nearly merged with her hairline.

Ciri pursed her lips and thought about how courtly Vesemir had been to Orlaith, and how quietly pleased she seemed. “You know, I can see how that happened,” she said musingly.

“You can?” Yen asked, “I mean yes, Vesemir is a witcher so under the grey hair he is still a powerful killing machine, but…why did she go for Vesemir?”

“Orlaith showed up before I left Kaer Morhen. She’s…” Ciri puzzled for the right words for a moment. “Quiet. Regal. She was a cat at first, and Vesemir took charge of her as he does with everyone who shows up. When she showed her human form, you should have seen him. The rest of the Wolf witchers might be bawdy drunks, but Vesemir pulled out courtly graces like he’d always had the skill. At least in part. He was bitching at Lambert in one moment, and then, I shit you not, bowing over her hand the next. And somehow, it didn’t even feel out of place.”

“Now I really want to meet her,” Yen said slowly. “I always felt like Vesemir was half a step away from stabbing me in the back when I least expected it.”

“Somehow, I think that little aspect of him intrigues Orlaith most of all.” Ciri shrugged. 

“Vesemir distrusts you because you had a tendency to use Geralt for your own purposes,” Triss said softly. “Vesemir is very protective of his remaining boys.”

“That actually makes me wonder just how much of Henselt’s deal was Orlaith and how much was Vesemir,” Ciri said. Then she shrugged a little and looked between Yen and Triss. 

“And what he’ll have to pay for it.” Yen finished. She tapped her fingernails on the polished surface of the table with a sharp staccato beat.

“It does make me wonder,” Ciri said. “I don’t know. We all talked a little bit about it before I left and they went to negotiate. Dracula was pleased to let Orlaith and Vesemir handle the situation, even when Vesemir warned that if given the opportunity he would try to get safe passage for all witchers. I kind of got the impression that Dracula felt the whole activity was a loss, and not worth the aggravation. I am surprised by the scope of Henselt’s deal, though. And the offer of an army.” She shook her head. “If there is an attack, no one will win. Dracula’s army is fed on his power while in the castle. Outside of it might be a different story.”

“Let’s hope Emhyr doesn’t decide now is the perfect time for a third war then,” Triss said dryly. “This stuff with Geralt and the Order was at least in part a way to destabilize Temeria enough for him to make a bid at it.”

Yen laughed. “I don’t think Emhyr’s plots ever failed quite this spectacularly.”

“Did it fail?” Triss asked. “Because if his only goal was to cause problems, the plan is a wide success. The Southwestern border is a damn mess, and that’s not even counting Foltest’s reaction to the Order.”

Yen inclined her head. “True,” she admitted. “Yet I bet he did not foresee Dracula stepping into the power vacuum.”

“Gods, who could have expected that,” Ciri said, laughing a little. “A manifestation of a greater power of chaos.”

“It was bound to happen,” Triss added. “With how Geralt gets into trouble, _something_ had to give.”

“One could say Geralt is a power of chaos all by himself,” Ciri snickered.

Triss smothered a snicker of her own.

“It wouldn’t be so funny if it wasn’t true,” Yen said dryly.

Triss got up and looked at Ciri.

“I’m going to pass all of this to Dracula,” Ciri said. “I’m not sure how his…methods…will work, but this should be enough to fulfill my bargain with him.”

Yen put down the food and wiped her fingers and mouth with a beautifully embroidered handkerchief.

“I’m ready when you are,” she said, straightening her clothes.

Ciri had to admire her mettle. Based on all the magic she’d used and everything that she’d been doing, Yen was probably exhausted. But she was going to go meet the Lord of Chaos without half a second thought.

“Just let me get my cloak,” Ciri said, already moving to grab her gear.

\---


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes from Quarra: Hey folks! We're still here, surviving! I hope you all are doing well. Each and every comment you leave makes me so happy, so thank you again for taking the time to let us know how you are liking the chapters!  
Note form xantissa: Hey there people! I am not dead! I was hpwever stuck in Australia on a business trip and with the current world situation there was significant fear I wouldn't be able to come back home. I did, though what used to be a 26 hour trip took 44 and some additional countries to boot. All of your comments made the extremely stressful situation much easier on me. I couldn't really respond to all the lovely comments, but rest assure they changed how I felt about the situation a lot. Thank you all for being with us throughout the long journey.

“So this is Castlevania City,” Yennefer said as she looked out the car window.

Ciri had portaled them both to an alleyway behind a large building, and from there had led them inside a crowded lobby where a man was waiting. He ushered them back out again and into this _car_ thing, and then they all sped off.

In all of Yennefer’s near hundred years alive, she had never seen anything quite like this place. Hundreds of thousands of people teemed through the streets here and old, dark buildings rose to the sky and delved into the earth with equal enthusiasm. There were no weapons that Yennefer could see, not among the vast majority of the people anyways. No swords or daggers. No crossbows or staves. But there were those who looked like constabulary, though their weapons were unfamiliar. 

For all its filth, Castlevania City was a place of lights. Glowing lights seemed to fill every available surface. On walls, shining through windows, and creating colorful messages on large boards suspended from the buildings. 

She could see the remnants of Dracula’s castle here. It wasn’t that she recognized the buildings themselves. More she could feel the leftover darkness of his power clinging to the rock and bricks. Demonic energy ran strong in this city, but it was also tempered by bright veins of light. The whole place was chock full of magic; she could feel layers and layers of it, suffusing the whole place.

“Quite a view, isn’t it?” Ciri said. She was seated next to Yennefer, both of them situated comfortably on plush, black leather seats. The man who picked them up was obviously a guard of some kind, though he wasn’t dressed in armor and his weapons were hidden. He sat in front and quietly directed their vehicle around the city streets. A thick plate of colored glass set between his front seat and the back area where Yen and Ciri lounged. Probably for their comfort and privacy, but she had to wonder if it was to keep them from seeing up to what he was doing as well.

“I’m not sure what to think of it,” Yen said, looking over the shining city visible through the moving window. 

She could barely stand this city to be honest. There was so much magic. Not just the darkness of Dracula’s power, but all the spells that were cast here over the ages. The energy sank deep into the land, distorting it in a way that made her teeth ache. She wondered what kind of spells she could work with this much magic trapped just under the surface. She could do great things. Or make the world implode on itself, probably.

“Wait ‘til you see Trevor and his father here.” Ciri shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips.

“Trevor.” Yen rolled the name on her tongue. “It sounds so…ordinary.”

“Strange, isn’t it? To think of him as ordinary. But...as odd as it seems, there’s a part of him that seems to fit here.” Ciri smiled. “He plays at being a rich businessman. One that wears fine clothes and deals with his competitors in banquet halls instead of with sword and magic.”

Yen couldn’t picture it. Alucard was so seeped in magic that he practically breathed it in and out, and his sword was as much a fixture of his appearance as his hair or eyes. He _moved_ like a fighter. As did all life long warriors. The habit became so ingrained that it was nearly impossible to mask. She wondered what his fellow businessmen thought about that. Could they tell that a predator was in their midst? Did they even notice?

Because as calm and restrained as Alucard was, there was never any doubt that he was a predator. The top of his food chain, whatever setting he was in.

“What should I expect once we’re there?” Yen asked eventually.

“Trevor owns one of the large buildings. A tower, he said. It will be filled with his people. Workers and guards. If it's anything like the set up they had in the hospital, they’ll be higher up in a private floor. Trevor is often busy with work, and Geralt will likely still be in bed.” She scowled for a moment. “He’d _better_ still be in bed, anyways. Trevor has an assistant that follows him everywhere, a man named John. And his captain of security is there a lot too; Matt.”

Something about the way Ciri said that last name caught Yen’s attention.

“Matt,” Yen repeated, watching Ciri carefully. 

Her daughter didn’t do anything as obvious as blushing, but there was a way she said that name. Softer and gentler than she usually talked about men.

“Oh, stop it,” Ciri huffed. “We are close now.” She pointed to a huge building looming over the part of the city they were now in.

Yen had to admire the sheer scope of the building, with its winged sculptures framing the lower floor and the smooth, shining surface of the building stretching up and up, as far as the eye could see. It was almost too showy for Alucard, definitely not something she would have expected of him.

Rather than pulling up to the front as she expected, the car took a turn around the building and went down a hidden ramp. The tunnel was well lit, and it coiled around a few times before ending up in a parking area for cars. They pulled right up to a set of ornate double doors, and then the guard stepped out of the car and opened their door for them.

“This elevator will take you directly to Mr. Belmont’s private floor,” the man said as they stepped out. “Just head inside and press the call button. I’ve radioed ahead. Someone else will be waiting there to show you the way.”

Ciri led the way towards the doors. After a quick button press by the guard, the doors opened up to a small room lined with glass mirrors and polished wood panels. The moment they were inside, Ciri pressed a button with an arrow on it that pointed up, and they were off and moving up. 

Far faster than Yen expected, the doors dinged quietly and opened again. 

A man was, in fact, waiting for them. He was on the large side, clean shaven both on his face and head. His clothes were of fine fabrics, but they held weapons, Yen was sure of it. Not an unattractive face, she had to admit. A little rough, maybe, but strong, with a solid jaw. There was a faint purple shadow under his eyes, evidence of a long night. Or week. 

What was most interesting was the way his eyes lighted up a little when he saw Ciri.

“Ciri,” he said with a small nod. “It’s good to see you again.” Then he looked to Yen and nodded respectfully. “I’m Matt Snow, Mr. Belmont’s head of security. May I have your name?”

“Yennefer,” she gave her name and watched him carefully.

There was a spark of recognition in his face, but only the barest hint of one. This was a man who was used to masking his emotions.

“If you’ll please remove all of your weapons,” he said, waving to a table next to the elevator. “One of my men will take careful watch of them while you are here.”

Ciri didn’t even bother arguing. She simply pushed aside her cloak and started disarming herself. “No Keith here to give me a receipt in exchange for them?” she said, eyeing Matt with a smirk.

“Should I call him?” Matt asked innocently.

“Only if you like an audience.” Ciri’s smirk got a little wider. 

She was _flirting_. 

Her daughter was flirting, for maybe the first time in her life. At least in Yennefer’s presence, anyways.

Yen bit her tongue to stop herself from commenting and watched the interaction with amazement.

Matt took a slow breath and blinked. “I’m afraid after this week I’ve had quite enough of the peanut gallery,” he said dryly. “Your father and uncle just finished up lunch, and Iga and Mr. Belmont Sr. are with them.”

While they talked, Matt let his gaze flicker over Ciri, then Yennefer, and then back to Ciri again. There was definitely an appreciative quality to that look. It wasn’t anywhere close to being rude, or even terribly obvious. But Yen had many, many years of gauging such expressions. Matt absolutely was looking and he definitely liked what he saw. 

Once Ciri had finished disarming herself, and with a shockingly little amount of complaining, Matt turned to look at Yennefer.

“Ma’am? If you are wearing any weapons, they need to be left here.”

“I am defenseless,” Yennefer said spreading her arms slightly.

He gave her an incredibly flat look, with just the barest of eyebrows raised. “Then you won’t mind if I search you?” 

Ciri didn’t appear to be breathing. Her face started to turn slightly purple from it, but Yen chose to ignore the unspoken commentary.

“Of course,” Yen spread her arms and smiled pleasantly. It was a good test. If he tried to cop a feel, she would make sure he suffered forever more. 

The search was both incredibly thorough and very professional. Not even once did his hands wander someplace they shouldn’t, although he was careful to check in some of the more unusual places where a blade could be hidden. Boots, spine, hair. He didn’t even look at her in an unpleasant way; he simply kept to his task.

Of course she wasn’t wearing any weapons. None that he would recognize as such, anyways. She had no use for them.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” he said sincerely once he was done. “If you will follow me, I’ll show you to where your family is.”

“My daughter seems to like you,” Yen said, watching Matt carefully. Ciri made a sound similar to a kettle boiling.

Matt closed his eyes and let out a soft sigh, his shoulders slumping and a hint of red touching his cheeks. “Respectfully, ma’am, Ciri and I have not yet discussed the matter.”

“Oh no,” Ciri said quietly. “Eskel and Geralt.”

He looked over to her and tilted his head a little in acknowledgement. “Your father and uncle have been…”

“Insufferable?”

“Curious.”

“Ouch.” Ciri winced. 

“Curious is an odd way to describe Eskel,” Yen said, watching Matt still. She was having trouble getting a feel for him. He was too controlled, too calm for her to easily understand.

“Is it?” Matt asked her blandly. He waved an arm down the hall. “This way.”

This conversation was too interesting to cut off so quickly.

“It is,” Yen confirmed, not moving an inch.

“You are not going to move until you interrogate me to your satisfaction, are you?” Matt sighed. He stopped moving and turned to face Yen.

She had to fight the way her lips tried to turn up.

“Let’s not put it into such rough words.” She did smile at him then, as gently and as feminine as she could. “A friendly chat is a more fitting description.”

If anything, his face shifted into even more of a mask of blank politeness. It made her think that he’d seen tactics like this before. it didn’t matter, she already knew how to get him off balance.

He waited, patiently.

“Tell me,” she said after a pause. “Are you fertile?”

He blinked at her. “I’m afraid that is personal.”

Ciri made a choking little sound, covered her face, and turned to face the wall. Yennefer had never before understood why mothers teased their daughters like this, but she had to admit it was fun!

“That’s a ‘yes’, then,” Yen concluded.

He shrugged slightly. “However you want to interpret it. Shall we go?”

“No,” Yen said politely and turned to look at Ciri.

Her daughter was a formidable warrior and an efficient sorceress. She was also very slender.

“She’ll burst,” Yen sighed as she looked over the sheer size of Matt and then back to the sheer lack of size of Ciri.

Matt simply continued to wait patiently. 

Yen decided to change the subject. “Tell me, what do you think of Eskel?”

“In what way?” Matt asked, tilting his head a little bit.

“You called him curious, tell me why.” Yen wasn’t bothered by what Matt might say. It was more interesting to see what he wouldn’t say.

“Because he and Geralt read books like they’re going out of fashion,” Matt replied easily. “Both of them are voraciously hungry for information. Possibly because of boredom.”

“Their kind doesn’t take boredom well, though Eskel usually deals better than Geralt. You got attached to them already.”

“It’s my job to look after every person in my charge,” he replied, bland as ever. 

“I doubt you talk this fondly about every person you ever had in your charge.” Yen has had enough experience to read people, read the silences just as well as their words. But gods, this man was playing hard to get.

“I am sure it is as you say,” he replied, though there was a touch of bland sarcasm in his voice. He looked away for a moment and then seemed to loosen a touch. “I have had worse assignments.”

She wondered which witcher got him so defensive? Eskel didn't seem to be the one to push too hard. Geralt on the other hand was definitely one to drive a person insane. With a witcher’s nose, they probably had sniffed out what Yen noticed. Matt was probably hounded incessantly since Geralt could talk.

Yennefer nodded. “I see Geralt already got on you about the subject. Good, I’m sure it was easier to talk man to man.”

“So far, everyone has decided to weigh in,” Matt said with a faint grimace. 

That made her smile.

“There are three things humans need to survive,” she said. “Food, drink, and gossip.”

That made him huff faintly in amusement, then he shook his head. “Truer words.”

“I’m glad to hear Geralt is doing well,” she murmured, finally deciding it was time to let Ciri off the hook. As much as she liked poking at Matt, it was Ciri’s little twitches and groans that were the most amusing.

“He’s much improved,” Matt said seriously. “All of the tubes and monitoring wires are out, and most of the stitches are gone. He still has a few staples in and some splints, so please, try not to encourage him to move around too much.”

“That means not dumping him in the middle of the lake for him to swim back,” Ciri piped in, obviously spoiling for a jab of her own.

“You know about that,” Yen sighed. She thought that little spat was between her and Geralt. And possibly the lake she teleported him to.

“Food, drink, and gossip, like you said,” Ciri smirked at her.

Yennefer sighed again.

“Why must you be so smart.”

“You would have been cross with me if I wasn’t.”

“True,” she allowed. “But I’m usually cross at somebody for something, so that’s nothing new.” Yennefer shrugged, spreading her hands. 

“Time to go see Geralt now?” Ciri asked.

“Yes, now that I know he’s been up and around and causing mischief with Eskel, I feel ready to visit him.” Yen looked to Matt with a ‘lead on’ expression firmly plastered on her face.

He nodded to her, and showed them the way down the hall.

Even though this building was the highest Yennefer had ever seen, the corridors were spacious with tall ceilings. Thick, expensive carpets lining the floors, so plush that her boots sank into them. The walls were lined with art; the styles were foreign to her but it was all obviously expensive. The quality showed in the careful details of the wooden frames, the vibrant colors in paintings, and the painful beauty of every sculpture.

She could practically feel the wealth and the luxury suffusing this place. It was a clear statement of power, one she expected from Dracula but not from Alucard. 

Throughout the walls was the ever present sensation of Alucard’s magic. Yen had sensed it around him when he was near, but never had she really felt it in action. Not to this extent. The wards were carefully crafted, layer upon layer, some of which entwined with much older spells. It was impressive work, and shockingly strong.

After a few turns, they ended up at an extremely impressive looking wooden door. Matt opened a small panel in the wall and poked a few buttons there. When the door opened, she noticed that hidden in the solid looking wood were heavy metal bolts that had retracted when open.

“The fuck is this?!” Geralt’s voice became audible as the door cracked opened. By the time Matt had opened the door completely, Yen could hear Eskel’s calm response.

“Spy.”

“You already put a spy down before, where the fuck did you get another one?” Geralt sounded personally offended.

“My deck,” Eskel’s deadpan delivery made Geralt growl.

“You are killing me here,” Geralt again.

“I hope,” Eskel said pointedly.

Because of course they were playing cards. Yen rolled her eyes a little and shook her head. 

Sure enough, Geralt was sitting up in a very large, rather lavish looking bed, with Eskel sitting in a chair next to him. They had their gwent decks spread out over the covers in between them. 

Interestingly, Eskel was dressed in clothes from this world. He sported dark blue, heavy pants and a surprisingly fine ice-blue long sleeved shirt. He obviously wore weapons under his clothes, but his swords weren’t anywhere in sight. 

Geralt looked…

_Terrible._

His face was pale as snow, with dark bruises under his eyes. Fresh scars lined one side of his forehead. He also wore a loose shirt in this world’s style, but one of his arms was in a splint and she could see heavy bandaging wrapped around his torso and up to cover one shoulder. He looked like he’d lost weight, too. His hair was messy and loose around his face. 

The open neck of his shirt showed maybe the most shocking thing about the whole scene---the fact Geralt’s wolf pendant was missing. 

“Yen!” Geralt said, looking up to her. The way Eskel was seated, he was right in between Geralt and the door; a position that Yen was certain was on purpose. So Geralt was looking over Eskel’s shoulder to see them walk in.

“Oh? You have her card?” Eskel said, pointing at the spread of the decks on the bed.

“No.” Geralt waved at her, and smirked. “It’s Yennefer and Ciri.”

She wanted to say something flippant, something stinging to make Eskel jump but…she couldn’t quite make her voice work right.

“Geralt,” she said gently, her voice failing her at the last moment. 

She let the silence fall between them, preferring it to the words she might have said. She couldn’t stop looking at him. The terror that Ciri had showed before was now finally hitting her, too. It had been days, with potions and probably advanced medicine, and yet Geralt still was bed bound. Still…damaged. Yennefer couldn’t quite deal with it.

Eskel turned to look at them, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “Hi,” he said with a wave.

Yen could see the way Geralt’s eyes widened, the way his attention shifted to her like there was nobody else in the room. For that brief moment they were the only two people there, and their shared history unfolded between them to fill the space created by their silence.

“Eskel,” she greeted him finally, forcing herself to break the eye contact with Geralt. “It’s good to see you.” 

She could hear the way Geralt cleared his throat, striving for something to say.

She turned back to Geralt and willed herself not to see the scars and bandages.

“You look horrible,” she offered, hoping her usual poking would chase away the odd mood.

Geralt smiled wanly at her. “I’ve heard. But really, this is a significant improvement. Maybe another few days and the nannies will let me get up and look around a bit.”

“Shut your face,” Eskel grumbled. “We could have tied you to the bed.”

“I like that idea,” Dracula said mildly from the corner.

Yennefer turned to look at him. 

He sat in a plush black chair as if he was on a throne, watching the room with an expression she suspected might be jealousy. Or simply possessiveness, maybe. It was hard for her to gauge. He was dressed all in black. His shirt was similar in style to Eskel’s, with buttons on the front, and he had on some kind of jacket. His pants looked thin and fine, and he had on polished black leather shoes. The only spots of color were his red eyes and his multiple jeweled rings; they all caught the light and shimmering eerily.

Eskel snorted. “Just let me know if I need to step out.”

“You need to step out,” Geralt said promptly.

Eskel turned to him, eyebrows arched.

“If that’s how you want to play it.” He threw a Scorch card on the bed, taking down two of Geralt’s strongest cards to his loud squawk of outrage.

“You killed me!”

“Walk it off.” Eskel started gathering up his cards, as clearly the match was now over.

There was a light in Dracula’s eyes, one Yen was tempted to call amusement. His expression was so controlled that it was difficult to tell for sure.

“Welcome,” Dracula said finally, getting up from his chair. There was grace to his movements, one that surprised her in a man so big. “You bring news?”

“Yes,” Yen cut in when she saw Ciri open her mouth to respond. “We do.”

That earned her a long look from Dracula. 

“It is Ciri that I have struck my bargain with.” The way he said it didn’t imply anything more than idle curiosity. 

“And she got you the information you want, I am merely the one that will pass it over.”

Dracula raised his eyebrows slightly, and then looked at Ciri.

“Yen can speak for me,” Ciri said, and handed over to Yen the document tube with Triss’s notes. “She was the one who found half the information anyways. If you’re willing to accept her as my proxy for our agreement.”

“So be it,” Dracula said with a nod. He turned his gaze back to Yen, and she could feel the heavy weight of it. “Matt. Leave us. Geralt or Eskel will summon you when we have need of you again.”

Without another word, Matt nodded at him and took himself out.

Before the door had even closed, Dracula cast a sidelong look to Ciri. “This would be an excellent opportunity for you to speak with him without an audience.”

“Oh Gods, you too,” she said, rubbing a hand over her eyes. 

“I decided I was missing out on the fun everybody else was having,” Dracula informed her cordially. “So I decided to join in.”

“You know what? Sure. That sounds great,” Ciri said, shaking her head. She straightened her spine and nodded to them all. 

“I’m glad you approve.” 

For the life of her, Yen couldn’t say just how serious Dracula was.

Ciri just snorted in amusement, and Geralt let out a snicker, too. 

“I’m gonna go try to convince him to join me for a drink,” she grumbled to herself. Then she headed towards the door, waving at them all as she walked out. “I think he needs one by now.”

“I made sure he got some yesterday!” Eskel called after her with a wide grin.

Ciri laughed. The door shutting behind her cut off the sound.

“Dracula?” Geralt asked, watching the door Ciri disappeared behind. “Are you getting rid of witnesses?”

“Yes.” There wasn’t a hint of guilt in his answer. 

“This doesn’t sound ominous at all,” Eskel murmured, shuffling his deck.

“I won’t kill anyone on this floor,” Dracula said consolingly.

That made Geralt laugh for some reason, but the laugh was cut short by the wince and cough that didn’t sound good. 

Yen moved before she even realized what she was doing. A diagnostic spell glowed on her hand as she pressed it to Geralt’s chest. He blinked at her but didn’t move. The stupid man didn't know what kind of spell she was using and he didn't even ask. He just let her do what she wanted. Yennefer had no idea how he could do it. Couldn’t stand the way he just _trusted_ people.

The spell flooded her mind with a list of injuries fit for ten people, and she broke it off, unable to deal with the sheer volume of it. He was on the mend though, just as Ciri said. The injuries were healing, well taken care of. He would pull through.

“Care to join me?” Dracula again, his voice coming from somewhere behind her.

Geralt frowned at them both. “I want to hear who ordered this, too.”

“And you will,” Dracula said, not taking his eyes off Yennefer. 

She could feel his attention on her, like the focus like a spell. The endless possibility of that gaze itched under her skin. They were going to talk, yes, but mostly they were going to plan _murder_. That wasn’t something Geralt did very often. He fought and killed, yes, but rarely in revenge for himself.

Something moved in Geralt’s eyes, some thought. Perhaps he understood what they would be discussing. Or maybe he just understood their nature. That would be enough. 

He let out a soft sigh and nodded, and a strange look passed over his face. Maybe it was worry, or perhaps resignation. Yen couldn’t quite tell. In some ways she thought she knew Geralt better than anyone, but in others he still remained a mystery. She wanted to blame it on him being a witcher---they all were absolutely insane---but deep down she knew it was probably just him. 

“Alright,” Geralt said. “Just come back when you’re done talking. Don’t leave before I can say goodbye to you.”

As much as Yen wanted to think he was talking to her, the bitterness in her heart said that he was probably talking to Dracula. Geralt never had a problem with her leaving.

Dracula was standing close to the wall, near a portion that was lined with dark, opaque glass. She’d assumed that Alucard had replaced the windows with it, given that she didn’t think he could tolerate the sunlight at all.

Then Dracula approached the glass wall and touched something on the side. The whole panel turned out to be a door. It slid open, showing a sort of loggia-type balcony. It opened up to an amazing view, with the whole city stretching out beyond. There were two dark brown recliners placed beside a glass and metal table, both hidden in a deeper patch of shadow. The sun seemed to hit the balcony at an angle; most of it never even reached the furniture.

Dracula stopped beside the open door and extended his hand towards Yen, gesturing that she should come in.

She didn’t feel comfortable stepping onto the small balcony at such a great height, but she wasn’t going to show it to him. Yen held her head high and walked by him, the heels of her boots clicking on the stone finish of the balcony as she walked. 

She took the recliner closest to the sun, stretching her legs out so that her feet were bathed in the slice of light cutting through the balcony. That left the seat in the deepest shade for Dracula. A practical precaution, considering that Yen wasn’t sure just how well he would deal with direct sunlight.

Dracula inclined his head at her in a mute thank you as he sat in his chair. As he looked over the city, again his face held an expression that Yenn couldn’t quite read. She hated how inscrutable he was.

“Sometimes,” Dracula said, “I just want to wipe this city out of existence.” His eyes followed the spires of the tall buildings in the distance. “For the sheer gall of them building inside the ruins of my Castle.”

“Why don’t you then?” she asked casually. Dracula certainly had enough power to do so, if he wanted. 

Dracula sighed.

“Alucard would disapprove,” he said, but she could sense it wasn’t the real reason. His answer was too fast, too flippant. “And while I abhor humans in general, I have found that is not always the case with individual examples.”

Interesting. Those were probably valid reasons, but Yen had to wonder what he wouldn’t say. There was something else that he wasn’t willing to talk about.

“Your son has invested a great deal in this city,” she said instead, trying to draw him out a little.

Dracula shook his head.

“I can not say I understand his drive to be a saviour to these people, to any people, really. His bloodline is dead. His son and all of his descendants have ceased to exist. There should be nothing tying him to this place, and yet.”

“He is sentimental.” 

“Maybe,” Dracula allowed. “He also has a talent for long term planning, maybe a touch of precognition in the way he likes to set certain events up. Like a hand of god, he nudges here, shifts there, and a while later people are in a perfect position to do what he needs them to do,” Dracula mused. 

It fit in a way, that Alucard would be powerful, too. Just by the virtue of being Dracula’s son twice over he was connected to sources of power no human mage could even imagine. From what Yen observed with Geralt, just being close to Dracula for an extended period of time tended to change people. It stood to reason that Alucard would be as unfathomable and formidable as his father, though he was a lot more charming and personable about it all.

“How far do you intend to take your revenge?” Yennefer asked, thinking back to the diagnostic spell she cast on Geralt. She curled her hand into a fist, trying to chase away the phantom sensation.

“Why ask? Are you going to withhold the information if I give you an answer you don’t like?”

“As much as I want to gut and quarter those responsible, I don’t want my world to burn while you go on a rampage,” Yen admitted. 

She wanted revenge, gods knew she wanted. She wanted to see blood flow for what was done to Geralt, but she’d spent most of her life trying to work out some kind of balance for the Northern Kingdoms. Too much effort had been sunk into making it an ultimately better place to live to have it now all crumble under Dracula’s uncaring heel. 

Yennefer glanced to Dracula and said, “You have no care for the world Geralt calls home, and I can’t just stand by and watch it fall apart.”

“Geralt is no longer yours to take care of,” Dracula said, seemingly mildly. His eyes never left the cityscape. 

Something inside Yennefer flared up. It twisted and burned in her chest. Yes, he was right, Geralt wasn’t hers. But at the same time, he would _always_ be hers. They raised a child together, they spent years together, died and lived for each other. 

Nobody could take that away from them.

“He is not wholly yours,” she said, wanting to hurt Dracula just like he’d hurt her with his callous words. She wanted to prick and bleed him, even if only just a little, just to prove she could. That she wasn’t beaten, she wasn’t defeated. She never would be. “He will _never_ be only yours.” Yennefer swallowed, suddenly lightheaded from sudden anger and pain. “He loves me.”

That was the crux of it with Geralt. 

He loved her. He never stopped, Yennefer was sure of it. She saw it in his eyes whenever they met. Just like she knew that she would love him until the day she died. She would always feel it punching her right in the chest whenever he shifted his focus onto her, and whenever she saw him after a time of separation. 

Dracula looked at her. His red eyes were glowing a tad more than before.

“I am aware,” he said quietly, tightly. “That once he gives his heart, he doesn’t just take it back.” Then, surprisingly he looked away. “But I am also aware that just love is never enough. You love him and he loves you, but you made sure this love would not survive.” His eyes radiated with dark red light. “I have felt a love like that, too. I have given my heart and soul to somebody who valued other things more, despite the love we both felt.”

He looked back to the distant skyline.

“You chose not to bend and that is what killed the future for both of you,” he said.

Yen felt like a spell misfired on her. Her body froze and the breath stuck in her chest. 

It wasn’t only that; Dracula wasn’t completely right. Geralt wasn’t blameless. It wasn’t even his endless wandering dick that infuriated her; it was the fact that he never pressed, never demanded anything of her. She needed that, Yennefer suddenly realized. She needed somebody who would challenge and fight. 

So she pushed and poked and pulled away from Geralt, waiting for him to force her defences down. Yet he didn’t, and she pushed too far, breaking that intangible thread that kept them together. For all the love they shared, there was no future for them as lovers and they both knew it.

Yennefer swallowed, her eyes stubbornly dry. No man would see her weep. Not like this. Not again.

“You are a hateful man,” she said quietly, evenly.

“I am no man,” Dracula said just as evenly. “And I will not give an inch of what I have of him. I will bind him, tie his mind and body, his very soul to me so that he can’t even imagine a life without my shadow in it.” He said it like a promise, like a prophecy, with power and conviction in his voice.

Dracula was not letting Geralt drift away. Not ever. 

The thing that hurt the most was the knowledge that it was exactly what Geralt wanted, needed, the most. Geralt didn’t want to fight for his lovers' attention; he wanted them to choose him above all else, wanted for them to fight _for_ him. To prove, for once in his life, that he was truly _wanted_. To do what she and Triss failed to do.

They sat in silence for a while as that bitter, sour pain burned in Yen’s stomach.

“I don’t want you gone,” Dracula said, almost gently. “It would make Geralt unhappy if you disappeared from his life.”

“You really want him happy, don’t you?” Yen said quietly, watching his profile. “How can a being so dark, so steeped in anger and hate as you are, love like this?”

“I don’t know where humans got the impression that darkness and love are in any way mutually exclusive. I have been betrayed, I have lived through pain and the torture of a love betrayed on all fronts. I have learned that suffering and hatred do not mean the love is gone.” He exhaled slowly. “I have learned from my past, as will you. One day somebody will come and you will look back at this moment, at Geralt, and know the things you must never do again.”

“I immensely dislike you,” Yen said, trying to keep her voice steady and mostly succeeding.

Dracula hummed quietly. “It’s a shame, since I find I quite like you.”

“Why would you?” Yen was aware that people didn’t tend to like her. Men lusted after her, were in awe of her, but they rarely liked her.

“You are both ruthless and practical,” Dracula said, a corner of his lips tugging up. “And you love Geralt.”

Now it was her turn to hum quietly as she thought that answer over. It was true that if not for the situation with Geralt, Dracula was someone she would likely be able to work well with. She’d have to watch her back every single second, but Yen understood how men like him worked. After all, it was similar to how she herself used power.

She handed over the document tube. 

“This holds notes from Triss and her network of spies,” Yen said. “Some of the blame falls on those detailed within. The long and short of it is that there is a Nilfgaardian spy who is intent on destabilizing the Northern Kingdoms, and witchers were an easy target for unrest. Said spy spread around copies of the very propaganda that spurred Kaer Morhen’s destruction years ago. Triss and her sources have gone as far as they can with that name. They’ll keep hunting him, of course, but who knows if they’ll ever find him. Those pages hold everything they know.”

Dracula took the document tube and placed it on his lap. His fingers were sharp with long, black claws, and they tapped quietly against the leather case. 

“Some of the blame,” he prompted. 

“Yes. The rest falls to a member of the Order of the Flaming Rose, Friedrich var Steingard, and his patron. Friedrich is an upstart intent on stealing the leadership of that order. You’ve already murdered most of his loyal followers, though no doubt a few of them still cluster around him like flies. His patron…”

Yen paused a moment, her face twisting into something that was half snarl and half smile.

“I sense a history there?” Dracula was watching her carefully, no doubt remembering every name she mentioned.

“Indeed there is.” She licked her lips, taking a moment to gain back her poise. “Sigismund Dijkstra. That fat, slimy bastard. He’s part of the Redanian Regency Council, co-head with another sorceress, Philippa. But years ago he was the head of Redanian Intelligence, and while he served there he discovered Ciri.” Her smile turned dagger sharp. “He found her and wanted to take her and use her. Geralt and I stopped him. Violently. He’s held a grudge against Geralt ever since.”

“Ciri?” Dracula asked. “Why?”

Yen pulled herself out of her memories and looked at Dracula, gauging his reaction. “Because of who she is. Who her birth parents are. Ciri is a princess, the last holder of Elder Blood, and the rightful heir to the Nilfgaardian Empire.”

Dracula’s eyebrows went up.

“How did you and Geralt end up with her, then? I doubt a royal house had problems paying for any services they might have needed.”

“It was Geralt,” Yen said with a rueful smirk. “Of course.” Because Geralt was the kind of man who would try to travel a straight line between two trees and end up in another dimension. “Emhyr, the current emperor of Nilfgaard, was cursed and living in secret in Cintra, hiding under a false name. There he claimed a princess as his betrothed and came across Geralt who solved his little curse problem. He offered anything Geralt wanted in return, and Geralt chose the Law of Surprise. Lo and behold, but Emhyr then discovered his lovely fiance was pregnant. Therefore his child became Geralt’s child of surprise.”

“Interesting.” Dracula dragged his hand down his goatee. “What is an Elder Blood?” he asked unexpectedly. “I can sense the type of power she wields but I am unfamiliar with the term. This world never had that kind of power.” He mentioned outside the balcony, indicating the city outside.

“It is a bloodline, descended from a powerful race of Elven mages, a royal line of unimaginable power that hails back to the ages long before humans even arrived into our world. The Elves have diminished over the millennia. Humans are outpacing them by speed of reproduction, winning wars by sheer numbers. Yet both Ciri’s biological parents had the blood run strongly in them, and Ciri was born as close to a holder of Elder Blood as is possible.” Yen didn't even try to hide the wonder from her voice. She loved Ciri and was constantly amazed at what she’d become. “It is not a well known secret, but enough people are aware that it is a constant concern.”

“Elves,” Dracula murmured. “Geralt mentioned them a few times, but I have not met one yet.”

“They are becoming rare. Humans are running them out, both on accident and by purposeful, bigoted hatred.” She thought of the dangerous fighting that took place between the races. It spilled over into so many aspects of their society; no one was safe from it. “They lost their magic a long time ago. Nobody is quite sure how. Was it only the murder of the royal blood? Or maybe the thing that gave them power was lost.” She shook her head. “They are losing this war, have been for a very long time now.”

Yen looked to Dracula.

“What do you plan to do with those responsible?” she asked finally.

“Invite them,” Dracula said simply.

“Invite?”

“To my true realm.” He looked out at the city again. “When I was tasked with defeating the Lords of Chaos, when I was then tasked with defeating the Lord of Hell, I was essentially put into their place.” He looked back at her. “I will send my Hellhounds out to track down the people you mentioned and I will have them dragged, alive and well, into Hell itself.” His voice was slow and low. “I control time and matter there. I will keep them alive and sane while all the horrors of Hell are visited upon them for all eternity.”

As terrible as that sounded, Yen couldn’t find it in herself to be anything but pleased at that answer. 

“Good,” she said quietly, fiercely. “They nearly succeeded, they nearly killed him. They deserve what’s coming to them.”

“The hounds will be visible to all, but they will only hunt the persons I indicate,” Dracula said. “I will…keep the collateral damage to a minimum.” He huffed. “I do not wish to see your world descend into chaos. I find I am enjoying it too much,” he said unexpectedly.

She nodded. That was also satisfactory. 

“I may install myself in Redania’s court, just to watch Dijkstra flail.”

“How fast can you do it?” Dracula asked. “Because I plan to release the hounds today.”

“I can portal there as soon as Ciri takes us back. I’ll get some looks from Philippa, but whatever the inconvenience, I don’t care. Watching this would be worth it.” 

She stared out over the city, her mind a world away as she thought about all the delicate political webs she would be throwing a rock into just to be there. They didn’t matter in the least. 

“I will come back with you then,” Dracula decided. “To make sure you get the front row seats.”

“You will watch, too?”

“No.” He shook his head. There was a little smile on his face. “I will await my new guests at their final destination.”

A short laugh huffed out of her, and she bared her teeth in a wicked smile. After everything Geralt had done for humanity, for the Northern Kingdoms, for all the people he helped and saved, he deserved some reckoning. 

It was almost pleasant to know that someone else was willing to help her dish it out. 

\---

Before Matt could make it to the elevator, Ciri caught up to him.

“Can I join you?” she asked. Her face was a little flushed, but if that was from the quick step she’d used to catch up to him, or whatever teasing she inevitably got back in the room, he wasn’t sure. 

“Of course,” Matt said with a nod. “I was headed down to my office, but we can go to the cafe or the break room if you want?”

Matt did have work to do, but he also very much did not want Geralt’s daughter wandering around unaccompanied. If she was anything like her father, who knew what trouble she could stumble into?

“Oh no,” Ciri looked at him with wide eyes.

“What?” He narrowed his eyes.

“You looked at me the same way everyone who knows Geralt looks at _him_.”

That made him bark with laughter. Quickly enough, he mastered himself again, but he couldn’t help but keep a smirk on his face. “Can you blame me?”

“Yes,” she nodded seriously.

_Fair enough_, he thought and tilted his head in a little shrug.

“For all you know, I could be so much worse!” she finished up with a smirk.

“From what I’ve heard, you might be.” Matt looked at her with amusement. “You realize that I’ve had a week of listening to Eskel and Geralt talk, right?”

“...Glad Lambert isn’t here,” she said. “Eskel is the soul of sensibility and reason, really.”

Matt nodded towards the elevator, ushering her in as they talked. “Trevor said that Eskel was the reasonable one of them all. I wasn’t sure I believed him, but the more I get to know both him and Geralt, the more I think I agree with him.”

“He is,” Ciri nodded. “He’s been a lovely uncle to me. The only truly ridiculous situations he got himself in were usually because of somebody else.”

“Then I think I’m kind of glad that their friend Lambert hasn’t joined them, too,” Matt said ruefully. 

He thought about last night’s drinking adventure, and how much clean up both he and John had to do to smooth things over. John had managed to pull off convincing the various executives that Trevor had just wanted to gift them with something more expensive than what liquor they’d kept in stock. Most of the rustling around of their things got marked off as cleaning crew or maintenance. 

Still, it wasn’t an incident that either of them wanted to repeat. Just in case, John got a large stock of hard liquor delivered and held in reserve. That way if Eskel and Iga decided they just _had_ to go drinking, Matt could corral them into a safe area. 

He _hoped_.

“From the stories Geralt and Eskel have told, if Lambert were here too I’m not sure I could keep tabs on all of them,” Matt admitted. 

“Eh.” Ciri waved her hand as if to chase his worries away. “They wouldn’t cause too much trouble. And if they got drunk, you just leave them outside to sober up.”

He gave her a tired look. “It’s part of my job to make sure they don’t go wandering around outside. Without an escort at least.” Matt shook his head and pressed the call button to take them to the floor with the staff cafeteria. “Your father and uncles are competent people, but they’re unfamiliar with how Castlevania City works and there are more dangers here than they might realize.”

Ciri laughed.

“From what I’ve seen, all Geralt needs to do is bat his eyelashes and sooner or later some woman or five will come up to take care of him.” Ciri shrugged. “For all that he’s wolf, he really is a cat. Always lands on his feet.”

Matt nodded, but he couldn’t help but think of all the effort that Trevor put in to keep the man alive. Whatever situations that Geralt found himself in, they didn’t always go his way. The scars covering both witchers seemed to prove that. 

“He’s very adept at surviving,” he said finally.

The elevator doors opened, and Matt gestured down the hall towards the seating area. “Care for a drink?”

She gave him a narrow eyed look. “Somehow I get the feeling you’re not talking about wine.”

“No,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I’m working, so no alcohol for me. I’d offer it to you, but Eskel and Geralt might demand you bring extra for them. Or demand to know why I’m trying to get you drunk.”

Especially if he didn’t smell like alcohol, too. God, the looks alone would be enough to make him want to slam his head into a wall. 

Ciri actually blushed, and her face scrunched up in chagrin. “Oh gods. What have they done so far?”

“Things have been discussed. Loudly. In my presence. Regarding…techniques and adequate levels of training.” Matt said dryly.

Ciri covered both hands over her face and made a soft, _aaarrrggg_ sound. Then she dragged her hands down a little, peeking at him through her fingers. After taking in his serious expression, she went back to covering her face. 

It only lasted a moment, though. Then she took a breath and composed herself. “I am not surprised, now that I think about it. You should have heard them all trying to teach me about sex when I was a teenager.”

“Teach you about sex,” Matt said, his mind almost exploding with a multitude of unspeakable thoughts.

“You know how it goes,” she said, waving one hand waving dismissively. “You hit your teenage years and it’s all, ‘let’s take you to a whorehouse, make your first time fun.’ It absolutely did not help that Geralt decided to vet all the hookers for me to make sure that they knew what they were doing.” Ciri laughed. “It wasn’t like I didn’t know where babies come from. But those poor witchers. They were unprepared for a teenage girl.”

Matt blinked at her. That was not where he expected this to go.

“Geralt was…” She sighed. “Instructive. And descriptive. He had books. With pictures. There were scribbled notes in the margins. It was incredibly embarrassing. Lambert took the opposite tactic and decided that instead of explaining anything, he should just threaten any man that made eyes at me with defenestration. Vesemir, oh gods. He gave me the same talk he used to give all young witcher boys. Which did _not_ apply in the least. Eskel was the least awful. He actually had useful things to say, and wasn’t a pain in the ass about saying them.”

“You got The Talk from four grown men,” Matt said, not knowing if he should laugh or cry. “Men who are basically career soldiers.”

She laughed and nodded. “Yup. I was very well informed about a whole range of things that...honestly, they personally don’t even need to worry about since they can’t contract any disease or sire children. Yennefer had her version of instruction, too.” She gave him a sideways look. “So I am not at all surprised that you got some portion of that instruction. Although usually they wait until I’ve at least said more than five words to someone before they start in.” That last bit was said in a grumble.

Matt had to pause to let that sink in for a minute. “Geralt did say he would save the more detailed conversation for later. I kind of hoped he wasn’t being serious.”

“Oh no. He was.” A look of horror crossed over her face. “Oh no…_oh no_.”

“What?” Matt looked around in alarm.

“Iga, Eyra, and Ian all live at Kaer Morhen now, too.” She looked at him with wide, terrified eyes. “They might decide to add in their advice as well. And...Trevor and his father.” Then she was back to facepalming. “Oh gods.”

As uncomfortable as Geralt, Eskel, and Iga’s commentary had been, he couldn’t even imagine what Trevor and Belmont Sr.’s talks on the matter might be like.

“Trevor?” Matt repeated. “You must be kidding, Boss is an extremely private person. Very serious. He surely wouldn’t be part of this madness.”

But Ciri just pursed her lips and stared off into the distance. “It’s hard to say. He is the more reserved of the group. But his father…” A small groan escaped her lips, then she looked at him with a great deal of weary sympathy. “Good luck. To us both.”

Cold fear slithered down Matt’s back. Gabriel fucking Belmont taking a moment to give him shit about maybe, possibly, being attracted to Geralt’s daughter wasn’t a situation that Matt really wanted to think about. 

“I don’t suppose that your family might actually want to wait a bit to see if we were even interested in each other before starting in on the shovel talk?”

“Are we?” Ciri asked quietly, looking at him from the corner of her green eyes.

He paused a moment to think about it. She was beautiful, there was no doubt about that. And fiery. He liked that she had a strong personality. There was a whole host of issues, though, with her being family to one of his current charges. 

After a moment he said, “It would be unethical for me to attempt to pursue a relationship with a family member of someone I’ve been hired to guard. Until Geralt is on his feet again, he is in my charge.” He looked down for a moment, and then looked back into her strikingly pretty eyes. “But if after that...you maybe want to go to dinner with me, I’d be on board with that.”

“I would love to,” she said, with just the barest hint of blush on her cheeks.

A slow smile curled over Matt’s face. 

“It’s a date, then.” He nodded towards the cafeteria. “Until then, let me get you something to drink and we can talk.”

“Not about sex, right?” she asked, her expression all studied innocence.

Matt snorted. “Watch out. Just mentioning the word might summon your father from out of the woodwork.”

“Gods forbid.” Ciri shook her head and laughed. 

\---

Dracula stepped through the portal into the courtyard of Kaer Morhen. Ciri, Yennefer, and Iga had left ahead of him, giving Yennefer enough time to get herself into place. It was fitting enough to allow her the chance to see what would become of Geralt’s enemies. It was a gift and a warning.

He could have gone anywhere to do this, but summoning the hounds at Kaer Morhen felt right. Appropriate. After all, they would be hunting those who hunted witchers, and what better place to send them off from than a witcher keep?

After a week’s worth of waiting, of patient, frustrating, agonizing waiting, finally Dracula could _act_. He’d watched Geralt suffer and heal, weak and stubborn in equal measures. He’s sat by helpless, _useless_, as Alucard saved Geralt. Rage and foul, burning unhappiness had slithered up into Dracula’s core, just aching to be let out.

And now he could.

It wasn’t satisfaction. Not yet. But soon it would be. 

Soon he would have the bodies, minds, and souls of those foolish enough to dare and touch what was _his_. He would own them, every piece of them, and they would never, _ever_ find rest.

With a bare flick of his hand, Dracula summoned the hounds into being, pulled them out of the darkness of Hell and set them to circle around him. They were as eager as he was. His anticipation shivered in the shadows around him, over the hellhounds, and echoed off into the castle itself. 

He looked up to the dying light of the day. The sun was just a bare sliver over the far edge of the castle walls. A smirk tugged the corners of his lips up, the anticipation boiling over.

It was time.

\---

Vesemir gathered up another pile of broken cobblestones. Ciri, Iga, and Yennefer had shown up earlier that day, teleporting straight into the courtyard. 

While Ciri and Iga stepped away, Yennefer had barely nodded at where Vesemir was watching from the window before blowing away in a storm of magic. Vesemir looked at the mess of stones torn loose first by Ciri’s entrance and then Yennefer’s leaving. For some reason Yennefer’s teleports were always violently hungry holes that did their best to suck in everything not nailed down.

No wonder Geralt suffered such hatred of portals.

It took Vesemir two hours to clean up the stones that had pulled loose from the walls and wherever else that age had weakened the mortar. Ciri wanted to help but he sent her back into the keep to touch base with Lambert and meet the new witcher. Iga had shown up along with the sorceresses, but she wandered off without any prompting. From the looks of the bags in her arms, she had new clothes to put away and was absolutely tickled about them.

While Vesemir worked, Night wandered around next to him. Sometimes he would hear a stomp and a small animal scream from nearby; telltale signs of her finding a rodent to snack on. 

As annoyed as Vesemir was with the sudden need for repairs, he had to admit it wasn’t a terrible way to spend some time. The evening sun was warm and the scent of spring was in the air. 

He did not expect Letho to come out to the courtyard after an hour or so, a flask of water in his hand which he passed over to Vesemir. The huge witcher was wearing better clothes now; a white linen shirt with a not very well mended collar and an older and somewhat-faded pair of brown leather pants. Vesemir had to admit that the loose shirt only made Letho look that much bigger.

Letho must have watched from a distance before he came up, because he didn’t startle at the sight of Night foraging around the sparse growth around the courtyard.

He stood his ground when the demon horse neighed and then trotted up to them. She held her tail high and her ears forward, clearly interested in the newcomer. 

Letho stood stock still. Didn't so much as blink an eyelash as she sniffed him all over, starting from his pockets and going up.

“Night, this is Letho,” Vesemir said to her. “Thank you for bringing him back to the keep for us.”

Night opened her jaws to bare her huge teeth right in Letho’s face. What happened next was the absolute last thing Vesemir expected.

With his face marble still, Letho reached up and pushed Night’s jaw closed hard enough that Vesemir could hear the click.

“Nice to meet you,” he said evenly. He held Night’s jaws closed.

One of her ears flopped sideways and she huffed through her nostrils.

“Let’s make a deal,” Letho said. “I won’t brandish my knives at you, and you won’t brandish yours at me.”

Night turned her head a bit sideways, getting a good view of him with one eye. Her lids narrowed a little as she clearly thought the deal over. Then she snorted, tossing her head up and out of his grip. To Vesemir’s mild surprise, she didn’t bare her teeth again.

She did prance around him, though, eyeing him all over.

“He’ll be fine,” Vesemir said with a wave. She flipped an ear at him and snorted again. “Witchers are tough.”

Night reached over and nosed at Vesemir’s Wolf medallion, then looked at Letho. 

“No, he’s not a Wolf. I didn’t train him. But he’s a guest here, so no harassing.” 

She looked at Vesemir, and then looked towards the stable and tossed her mane. The look she gave him was wide eyed and pathetic.

Vesemir snorted in amusement. “Brushing later. I’ve got work to do.”

That earned him a long, sad sigh and a flip of her tail. Then Night wandered off again with her ears perked towards the underbrush.

“I came to help,” Letho said, coming closer to Vesemir. He kneeled down beside one of the piles of loose cobblestones Vesemir gathered.

“You sure you're up to it?” Vesemir asked mildly as he fitted in another cobblestone into the hole he was patching. Once he had the stone placed he would fill the remaining spaces with a mixture of sand and volcanic ash that would harden after the next rain.

“I’m good enough,” Letho said, copying Vesemir with the stones. Since the cobblestones were worn and old, fitting them together required some trial and error.

They worked quietly for a while as the setting sun warmed both their backs. Vesemir had to agree that with two of them the work went faster. Letho was patient and methodical. They made good progress.

When most of the holes were patched and the damaged areas were covered with the ash and sand mixture, Vesemir started gathering their tools.

“Emhyr var Emreis will eventually learn about this deal,” Letho said quietly. Vesemir gave him a rag to clean his hands of grit and dirt.

An interesting topic of conversation. Vesemir wanted to side eye the other man, but kept his expression neutral instead.

“Without a doubt,” Vesemir replied easily. “I’m certain he’s got spies in most courts. Even if Henselt wanted to keep this whole thing quiet, he would still have to reach out to every nation in the Northern Kingdoms. Someone, somewhere will spill. But Henselt won’t keep it secret. He’s a bully, and bullies like to strut their power around.”

Letho nodded.

“Figure out how you want to deal with him as soon as possible.” Letho put the rag into the last bucket. 

Now Vesemir did pause to look at him. For all that Vesemir had been relatively forthcoming with Letho, he’d gotten a lot of silence and careful questions in return. Not that this bothered him much, but it was curious. “What makes you say that?”

They made their way to the little storage area adjacent to the front wall of the keep.

“Look at what happened to those who waited for him to figure out what he wants to do.” Letho made a vague gesture towards the south. 

That was true enough, though Vesemir got the nagging sensation that there was more to Letho’s observation then just that. 

“I have thoughts…” Vesemir shook his head. “But much rests on the information others turn up.”

Right now, Triss, Yen, and Ciri were hunting down names of those who ordered Geralt’s murder. It was possible that they might find Nilfgaard responsible. If that was the case, there was no telling what Dracula might do. Planning around Emhyr seemed like a moot point when the man might find himself as a snack for a chaos lord at any moment.

Though it was never a bad idea to have contingency plans.

Vesemir nodded. “I’ll think on it. Wars are a pain in my ass.” 

He took a sip from his water flask and thought the situation over. Letho was quiet, had been since he arrived, and Vesemir was loath to push him. But from what little he did say, it gave the impression that he had more information than he was willing to tell.

“What do you think about all this?” Vesemir asked finally. That was vague enough that if Letho truly didn’t want to answer, then he wouldn’t be put on the spot. But it offered him the opportunity to say something more.

“What people don’t usually notice is that Nilfgaard wins, but doesn't always fight.” Letho looked around the courtyard with eyes that seemed to look beyond the old walls. “The demon army will help Henselt in case of Nilfgaard’s attack.” Letho looked to Vesemir. “But what if it’s not Nilfgaard’s army? What if a ruler dies here, a trade company shifts loyalty there, and it’s your own neighbors at your throat?”

“Believe it or not, I have thought of those things.” Vesemir looked away for a moment, and then glanced back to Letho, a slight smile on his face. He’d been hanging around demons too long. He knew it because the smile was barely more than a show of teeth. “This is where you’ll think me cruel. Because I don’t care who runs the Northern Kingdoms. I only care about my people, my small handful. Right now, the Northern Kingdoms are a gods be damned mess. But as long as something is in place to let witchers roam on their Paths as they will, I don’t care. In Nilfgaard, they can’t. They are barred from cities, two steps away from a witch hunt. The Nilfgaardians don’t like them, don’t want them. Well we do.” He schooled his expression into something more neutral. “And I don’t mind making sure that there is some land for my brothers and sons to hunt in.”

“Witchers are few,” Letho said slowly. “No matter the school, there’s barely a handful of us left anywhere.” He looked wistful then, sharing Vesemir’s pain at the inevitable death of their caste. “Having a safe place to…live out the rest of our days, such as they are, would be…” Letho hesitated. “Would be a beautiful place if it came to be.”

“Yes,” Vesemir said roughly, his throat suddenly tight. “That is all I care about. And this is the most expedient way to make that happen.”

The saying was that witchers were heartless. Perhaps this whole thing was just proof of it. Wars were bad for business, so Vesemir wanted peace. The Nilfgaardians prefered to shun and possibly hunt witchers, so Vesemir wanted them away. Given the opportunity, he’d carve out a place for his people. No matter how the politics went.

“I hope you are right,” Letho said.

“Gods, but I do, too,” Vesemir muttered. Then he shook his head. “But it’s not as if I have much of a choice. Given the situation.” 

Change was coming to them, faster and faster now with Dracula’s castle appearing in this world. Vesemir found himself faced with the choice to bury his head and let others dictate what would become of them all, or to act.

He’d always been fond of acting rather than hiding.

Vesemir was not one of the most magically sensitive people in the castle, but even he could feel the way the very earth beneath his feet seemed to shudder and how every sound seemed to die for a moment.

A black tear of pure energy appeared in the air, rending the world. Dracula stepped out of the darkness. His armored boots hit the freshly fixed courtyard stones with a sick clang.

The hem of his armored, red coat hit the back of Dracula’s boots, floating gently on air currents that Vesemir couldn’t feel. The vampire didn’t even look at them. He just raised his arm and slashed his hand through the air, opening another dark and seething portal.

Even from the distance he was at, Vesemir could feel the infernal heat coming off of the portal. About a dozen creatures fell out of it. Dark aberrations that looked like wolves, or maybe dogs. They were made mostly of shadow, and their shapes kept blurring and shifting in the dying light. 

Their glowing red eyes and white fangs were the most noticeable features; everything else was swallowed in darkness. That, and the way they moved, silent and deadly. As they crept over the sand and loose stone not a whisper of sound was audible. Only when they yipped, eerie and hollow, could Vesemir hear them at all. 

All of them stared at Dracula with absolute devotion. Their bellies slid low to the ground even as their snouts reached up to touch Dracula’s hands.

Dracula didn’t bother looking at them. His gaze was locked off into the distance over the high walls of Kaer Morhen. He spared not a shred of attention to the hounds at his feet.

“Sigismund Dijkstra.” Dracula did not say the words loudly but they felt like a punch right through Vesemir’s chest. The power, the sheer magic in those words made his medallion all but vibrate off of his chest, and made something echo painfully in his head. “I hereby mark your soul for eternal torment.” The words were a spell. They had to be. A curse so powerful that it felt as if the very stones under their feet were trying to shy away from it.

“Friedrich var Steingard.” Dracula’s voice echoed again, making it hard to breathe and bringing pulsing pain to Vesemir’s temples. He pressed his hand to his medallion in a vain attempt to stop its mad vibrations. “Your soul is marked for eternal damnation, my ire upon you until the end of times.”

Dracula hesitated then, just the briefest of pauses.

“Centher.” With that, his voice didn’t feel the same as before. Vesemir’s medallion still vibrated in his hand, but it didn’t feel like somebody was reaching down to drag fingernails over his soul anymore. It was as if, for some unfathomable reason, the spell didn’t quite take. “I sentence you to eternity in my realm.” 

There was tension in Dracula’s voice now as if he too noticed the spell failing.

“Bring them to me,” Dracula said looking down at the hounds. “Alive and functional. Drag them to Hell as soon as you find them.”

The beasts howled, tossing their heads back. Their long muzzles looked ominous in their uniform blackness. They bayed and Vesemir’s heart skipped again as something in him, some kind of primal instinct flinched away from the sound.

It was a hunting party, that much was clear. The hounds were big enough to reach Dracula’s elbow. Despite that, they were almost skinny for all their size. Shaggy black shadows dripped down from their angular bodies like water.

“_Go_.” The word was like a final sentence, cutting the air like an executioner's axe.

The creatures exploded into movement, yipping and howling as they rushed out the courtyard. Their bodies blurring into shadows as they passed from one space to another without actual movement. In the blink of an eye they were gone, leaving Dracula staring after them, still frowning.

Vesemir squeezed his hand tightly on his Wolf medallion until the points of the image’s hair and ears dug into his skin, nearly making him bleed. The pain focused him, helped him get his bearings. He straightened up and swallowed hard, forcing himself back into a semblance of order. 

Gods, but Dracula was powerful. It was something they all knew, but it was always a shock to see it in action. Again, he wanted to bash Geralt’s head in because _really, a God of Chaos?!_

The impulse was fleeting. Especially in light of how Dracula was now ensuring that those who nearly killed Geralt would be taken out of play. That was something that Vesemir found he appreciated very, very much. 

“The girls came through for you, huh,” Vesemir said blandly, one eyebrow quirked at Dracula. 

The insight that he’d had at their planning table a few nights ago ran through his mind again. Dracula was used to being treated like a power to be manipulated or feared, and it was plain he didn’t much care for the experience. Vesemir would treat him as he did everyone else. 

He was half sure that Dracula wouldn’t even respond. The vampire was a wild card, even at the best of times.

“As much as they could, I suppose,” Dracula said mildly, turning to Vesemir. His eyes slid to the hand Vesemir still had wrapped around his medallion. “I did not touch your soul,” he said almost offhandedly.

“Pfft. I thought that ship might have already sailed,” Vesemir said with a wry twist of his lips. 

“The interesting ones I prefer to be given to me willingly,” Dracula finished up unexpectedly.

Then his eyes slid to Letho and paused there.

“Dracula, meet Letho.” Vesemir pried his hand off of his medallion and waved a hand between them.

“A witcher,” Dracula said, clear interest in his voice. He looked Letho over like one might a racing horse. Vesemir thought he might be just a moment away from feeling up the man’s arms and legs to see if he measured up. Letho stayed remarkably composed under the look, even if his eyes were a touch wide.

“Mmhmm. Henselt gave him to us, as a _goodwill gesture_.” Vesemir couldn’t quite keep his voice pleasant on that, not after Henselt had all but tortured Letho to death before handing him over. “We’re patching him up from his misadventures.”

“Patching up?” Dracula asked, again looking over Letho and probably noticing the few remaining bandages under the man’s clothes.

“I’ve been tortured for information on your city,” Letho said. His voice was remarkably even given the circumstances.

Vesemir nodded grimly. “They went looking for Lambert, too, but Night and Ciri found him in time.”

As if on cue, Night trotted over from the stables. She was clearly on her best behavior for Dracula. There was no excessive running, no baring of teeth. Just an extremely well behaved, polite demon horse. She stopped a foot away from Dracula and neighed quietly at him.

“Good work.” Dracula patted her on her nose and Vesemir could swear Night all but melted on the spot.

Dracula turned to Letho.

“I guess I owe you some kind of restitution for the trouble,” he said absently, the way people remembered some obscure bits of protocol. His eyes flicked over Letho’s shoulder. 

“Swords,” Vesemir jumped in, afraid of what Dracula might come up on his own.

Dracula looked to Letho. “One silver, one steel?” 

“Yes,” Letho nodded, sounding taken aback. “With enough space for runestones.”

“Witchers do love their swords,” Dracula murmured, still absently patting Night. She stood contentedly under his hand, ears at an relaxed angle.

“That is a fact,” Vesemir said with a smirk. He was well aware that he was wearing his own. He’d put them on along with the rest of his gear in the morning. Even here in Kaer Morhen, surrounded by Dracula’s castle, he was still armed to the teeth. “Though some of us are more attached than others. I think Eskel nearly cried when you got him his replacements this past summer.”

Dracula smiled, looking pleased.

“I have enjoyed the process,” he confirmed.

Then he looked over his shoulder at the spires of his castle visible in the distance. He frowned.

“Things have changed.” Dracula tilted his head up to look at one of the towers high enough that its top was completely lost in the clouds.

“Have they?” Vesemir asked, turning to look at the tower in question. He couldn’t tell if it was any different. The city skyline was still too new for him.

“Yes,” was all Dracula said. His body dissolved into black mist, was snatched away by the wind, and then dissipated completely.

Vesemir rolled his eyes a little, half amused and half exasperated. Then he turned to gauge Letho’s reaction.

Letho had the flat look of someone experiencing a truly spectacular _what the fuck_ moment.

“Swords?” Letho finally asked.

“That was better than waiting for him to think up something on his own, trust me.” Vesemir looked Letho over, his eyes also lingering on the empty back. “And it’s not like you don’t need them.”

“I do need them but…this was the lord of this city, right?”

“Yup,” Vesemir answered blandly. He took a sip from his water flask, wetting down his dry throat.

“And he just…sentenced three people to be brought to Hell. Which seems to be under his control too.”

“Also true.” 

“Why?” Letho looked at Vesemir, his eyes betraying his intelligence. “Why does he care so much about witchers?”

Vesemir had to shake his head and look down for a moment. Despite his irritation and unsettledness at Dracula’s little display, it was still almost comical how all this came about. He looked up to Letho and raised his eyebrows.

It was time to be blunt.

“If I tell you, who else will you pass the information along to?”

“Is it really such a secret nobody knows already?” Letho shot back.

“At the moment, yes. Perhaps it won’t be later, but I don’t want to show that hand before it needs to be played.”

“For the moment I am here.”

Vesemir mulled that answer around in his head. Would it do any of them harm for Letho to know about Geralt’s love life? Even if he ran straight out to shout it from the treetops, would it matter?

If Emhyr were to know that Geralt was so protected, he would back off direct assaults. But he could try pressure other ways, if he really wanted to. Emhyr wanted Ciri, everyone in their little family knew that. It was by her will that she remained free in the world. But what could Emhyr really do? Sending his armies in would spell disaster, and if word of Geralt got back to him, then surely word of Henselt’s deal would, too. With the knowledge of Dracula’s interest, came the knowledge that anyone who went out of their way to try and kill Geralt would get a fast trip to Hell.

He sighed. This was exactly why he hated politics. Killing things was just so much easier. 

“Fair enough,” he said finally. “I’ll ask you to keep it to yourself though.” Vesemir had to laugh. “You’d probably figure it out in a few days anyways.” 

He took a drink, trying to find the right words. How many times would this come up? If other witchers were to stop by and take their rest here, no doubt it would come up again.

“Dracula is the King of Hell, lord of this castle around us, and a god of chaos.” Vesemir gave Letho a dry smirk.

“God of Chaos,” Letho said flatly.

“I’d like to say a minor one, but I’m not sure how true that would be.” He shrugged. “None of those things are the important bits. The important bits are that he is Geralt’s lover. Him and his son.”

Letho’s eyes widened at the last one.

“He…and his son,” he repeated just as flatly as before.

Vesemir nodded. He knew what it sounded like. Hell, they all did here. It was just one more bit of strangeness on top of everything, so inconsequential that it got lost in the sheer volume of crazy things that happened. 

“Now. Dracula was very content to let Geralt wander his Path with minimal interference. Geralt is a witcher, after all, blood and bone.” This is where Vesemir sighed. “And then someone, or three someones apparently, decided that Geralt needed to die. They very nearly succeeded in their efforts. Dracula took offence.”

He waved a hand at the castle around Kaer Morhen. 

“Bedding a force of chaos, like that,” Letho made a vague gesture to the courtyard, “seems like a spectacularly bad idea to me.”

For a moment, Vesemir wanted to give Letho a hug, the appreciation for the man was so powerful in him. All he could do was just look at him and shake his head in awed agreement. 

“One would think. But…I have to admit, they all seem happier for it.” He looked at the castle walls. Then he remembered what Dracula said about Eskel, and he frowned. “Though I’m a little worried about what he meant with the ‘process’ comment,” he muttered. 

Eskel already had Dracula’s mark on his chest, and apparently routinely offered up his neck for a quick bite. What ‘process’ was still going on?

And did he _really_ want to know?

“The people who attacked Geralt don’t know that he still lives,” Vesemir said, getting back on track. “Though with Alucard looking after him, I expect he’ll be back soon. And while Dracula, and by his will Orlaith, have made his positive predisposition towards witchers known, it’s not yet common knowledge that Geralt specifically has his interest.”

“How good an actor is Geralt?” Letho asked.

Vesemir winced. That was probably not Geralt’s strong suit. 

“I suggest he and…Dracula...” the name rolled off oddly from Lethos tongue. “...Play out a very public, very…loud first meeting. Somewhere with a lot of poets, nobles, and spies around.”

“Oh?” 

“If people think he brought Dracula to this world, he will be made out to be the root of every bad thing that ever happens. Power or no, there can always be a fanatic with a lucky arrow.” Letho shrugged. “If you played it as if Geralt is…soothing the demon lord’s temper as a kind of savior or maybe a sacrifice to appease the demons, that might grant him more goodwill and definitely less blame. There will always be malcontents, but we both know how a bad image can affect a witcher.”

That was a very neat solution to a problem that Vesemir hadn’t even started to worry about yet. He raised his eyebrows in surprise. The more he turned it around in his head, the more he thought it might work. 

“Thank you,” Vesemir said seriously. “I’ll suggest it to them when they get back. I think it will appeal to Dracula’s sense of the dramatic, and Geralt’s need to stick his tongue down Dracula’s throat at every given opportunity. Alucard will probably wince a little, but he doesn’t need to be involved.”

Vesemir stifled a laugh at the face Letho made at him mentioning Geralt and Dracula. He looked as if he bit into a lemon. It seemed that at least _this_ witcher didn't feel the need to immediately drop trou for Dracula. What a relief.

Still, Vesemir had to shake his head at the situation at large. “So, now you see why the strange inhabitants. I have to admit...Kaer is very different nowadays.” 

He listened for a moment, hearing the faint sounds of people in the kitchen and Night in the stables. 

“You seem to like it,” Letho said quietly.

“I have been living with the death of my school for a very long time now. An empty, broken keep, and only a handful of brothers to train and care for.” Darkness had nearly set in now, and soft night sounds filled the air. Bugs and nightingales, trees rustling and frogs chirping. Peace seemed to seep in from the quiet of the night. “As unusual as the new additions are...it is a relief to see something like a future again. There will be no more Wolf witchers after us, but this isn’t so bad. Seeing my boys happy. Making sure they can follow their Path. Having life return to the keep.”

He shrugged, and looked to Letho. Vesemir knew very well that the man might not understand. Demons roamed their halls. Monsters lived in their moat and forest. It was a lot for any witcher to stomach. But Dracula had twisted his people just enough so they could live here without causing too many problems. He managed to just squeeze by with what could be tolerated, and then flourished once he got his foot in the door.

“I haven’t seen my keep in a very long time,” Letho said softly. “Nothing there for the few of us that remain.” He sighed. “I don’t even know how many of us still live. Ten years ago I knew there were at least five of us, but now…I only know of two others that should still be alive.”

Letho leaned against the keep’s wall, looking out at the dark mountains around them.

“I hope this place works out as a sanctuary,” he said. “My brothers might no longer be able to find their way here, but others might.” He sounded mostly like Vesemir felt, when the death of their caste became too much to think about. “I never even thought of such a place,” he admitted. “It seemed to me we were bound to be forever homeless, the unwanted children of the world turned into unwanted saviors of men.”

“It’s why we make them pay,” Vesemir said quietly. “They don’t want us, they don’t respect us, so they don’t deserve our help for free.”

Letho nodded.

“I always felt this rule to be more than fair. Whenever we venture out into a forest or a bog to kill some beast, we risk life and limb. If we are wounded too much to fight again, we starve and die. There’s nobody to take care of us, nobody to offer pity. So they will pay, because that's the least we can take for our trouble.”

Vesemir smiled, wryly.

“Geralt always had trouble with that, I swear he does a third of his contracts for free.”

Letho grinned.

“You think that’s what landed him in bed with a god of chaos?”

“No,” Vesemir said seriously. “It’s the fact he can’t keep his dick in his pants.” Then he sighed. “And he has a type.”

That made Letho laugh.

“I always did wonder how he managed to get with Yennefer of Vengerberg and not end up castrated in the process.”

“He’s either that good in the sack, or runs really damn fast,” Vesemir said flatly. Both seemed a viable option.

Letho shook his head.

“Not the type of excitement I look for in bed partners,” he said, pushing away from the wall. “Come on, let’s get something hot to drink. It got chilly.”

It really did. With the sun long since set, the late winter air became chilly enough to strip Vesemir of the warmth the previous work gave him.

“I have some mead we can warm up over the fire,” Vesemir offered.

“Sounds good.”

\---

Friedrich von Steingard paced back and forth in his study, tugging at the collar of his tunic. Ever since Yennefer had visited, he’d been worried. Nervous. 

The bard’s tales all told of a deathless romance between her and Geralt of Rivia. Having met the woman, Friedrich couldn’t see it. That was a woman who would chew men up and spit out withered husks. Possibly literally. 

Which was why he was so damn puzzled that she just left after finding out what she wanted to know. Even the kindest of songs about her mentioned a wicked temper. 

Before she left, she mentioned something worse coming after him. 

_Bluster_, he thought to himself. _Dramatics and chicanery._

She was simply putting on a show. Her hands were tied in some other way, so she’d made vague threats to appear more dangerous than she really is. That had to be it. No one was coming for him, not beyond the threats he’d already pinpointed.

He tried to tell himself this, but still he paced. The little hairs on the back of his neck prickled, and a low sense of dread was quietly growing inside of him. 

He couldn’t sleep, couldn't eat, a sense of anxiety plaguing him.

Friedrich had doubled the guards and ordered the patrols to stay vigilant day or night. 

This was foolishness.

Surely.

If he wore his full armor, that was only to show a strong front to his Order brothers. That was all. 

He poured himself a glass of Dijkstra Dry and paced over to the fireplace. The flames danced and sparked and Friedrich found that he was not comforted by the warm flame or the rich wine. Even the fire seemed menacing to him, its movements violent and sinister.

A faint sound made his ears perk up. It was almost a howl. Like a wolf of some kind only strangely high and eerie. 

But that was impossible. This study was in the center of the holding, surrounded by several layers of thick stone wall.

Still, the sound persisted. Slowly but surely it grew louder. 

Before Friedrich could go out to investigate, Brother Henrich burst in with three other Order Guards hard on his heels. Henrich was relatively higher ranked in the order simply because he came from a wealthy family; this manor was his, in fact.

“Brother Friedrich!” Henrich cried out. His eyes were so wide that the white showed all the way around his irises and his short hair was in disarray. “We are under attack!”

He and his brother’s had weapons bared; the blades reflected the light from the multiple oil lanterns Friedrich had burning in his study.

“What?” For a moment the words just didn't register. “Who would dare?!”

The howling grew louder still, sounding as if it was inside the manor walls. With it came the faint sounds of screaming as well. 

“Not who,” Brother Henrich said grimly. “_What_.”

This couldn’t be happening. Who had found them out? The vile elven guerilla fighters, the scoia’tael? Their filthy kind had been dragging out their inevitable extinction for far too long. Or had Siegfried somehow discovered Friedrich’s schemes and sent allies?

“Mobilize the troops, kill the faithless bastards!”

Friedrich drew his sword, mostly for dramatic emphasis. He’d passed an abbreviated version of the Order’s basic combat training, but as a born commander he’d had very little use for it.

“It’s beasts!” Henrich said. “Dark hounds that can not be touched by our weapons. Not swords nor arrows, not a single blade can touch them.”

Holy Fire save him from the narrow minded imbeciles. They saw monsters and beasts in any dangerous thing or shadowed corner.

“It’s probably just wolves or rabid dogs,” Friedrich growled. “Look for those that set them upon us rather than spew blasphemy about dark beasts in a Sanctuary of Eternal Flame!”

Henrich had the gall to look at him like _he_ was the idiot here; his mouth dropped open in shock and contempt.

Whatever he was going to say became a moot point as something burst right through the closed doors. Black and oily, the shape took awhile to become understandable to the eye. 

The creature was wolf shaped. Skinny and long, with shaggy mane and glowing red eyes. It locked its eyes on Friedrich and tossed its head up, baying in that eerie, echoing cry. Soon after that, other howls answered it. One. Two. Three. Each one closer than the one before.

“Gods,” Friedrich whispered, hoarse and low. 

It was the only word he was able to get out before the beast attacked.

The monster slid right by Henrich and the three other men, eeling past them like the shadows it was made of. They swung wildly, but nothing connected. They didn’t land a single hit, not even a glancing blow on the beast. It was if their weapons simply brushed through it.

Friedrich raised up his sword, terror gripping him. His face was slick with cold sweat and his hands practically slipped on his sword hilt. He expected the monster to go straight for his throat, go right for the kill, but it didn’t. Instead, it brushed by his side, spinning him in place by the sheer force of the blow, leaving his back to the door.

Then he felt the bite. Not from the beast in front of him, but from one behind. It must have come through the moment he’d been pushed around.

Searing, hot pain lanced through the back of his sword arm, right above the elbow. An awful, sickening maw clenched down on his flesh, biting through his plate mail as if it were tissue paper. His throat hurt from the violence of the scream that was tore out of him, and still it didn’t come close to encompassing the sheer pain of that bite. 

Dimly, he recognized that there were other screams in the room as well. He couldn’t focus on them, though. Couldn’t think around the teeth in his arm and the agony they caused. Vicious growls mixed in with the cries of despair and fear.

He tried to pull away, frantic and near mindless with the need to escape, but the beast pulled back, dragging him to his knees with an unholy strength. 

Then a second searing pain joined in. A bite on his leg, straight through the greaves and into the bone of his shin. It came from the side. Before he could do more than scream, the two beasts that had hold of him started pulling, stretching him apart between them and leaving him unable to more than flail with his one good arm. The pain of it spiraled through his body as if those bites were poisonous. It blotted out all other sensation. He might have been crying, pleading and begging, he couldn’t be sure.

The rest of the beasts circled him, weaving around each other so closely that they might as well have been a ring of pitch dark shadow. They growled and snapped at him, yipped and snarled. Their eyes glowed like coals and left shining streaks behind them in the air as they moved. 

An awful ripping sound tore through the room as the very world in front of him shattered and began to ooze darkness. It was a portal. Friedrich could recognize one when he saw it though he was no mage. 

Out of its black depths came a smell, the stench of a thousand rotting corpses mixed with the foul, rotten aroma of sulfurous fire. Shadows bled out from the rip between worlds, licking into the room as if Hell itself wanted out. Unbearable heat wafted off of it, burning his skin and making the edges of the parchment that spilled from his desk curl up and crack. Something inside him, a primitive, instinctive part of him, screamed and yelled as he thrashed in an attempt to stay away from that hole.

One by one the beasts slipped into the portal. To his unending terror, the two that had hold of his limbs dragged him closer as well. Friedrich flailed and scrabbed at the stone floor. Pulled and kicked. _Anything_ to try and get away from the impending darkness. 

It was useless. Hopeless. 

They pulled him ever closer to that black heat.

Just as his legs were being subsumed into that foul portal, he stretched his hand out in a vain hope that someone might grab it and pull him to safety.

The last thing he felt of his own world was Henrich’s fingers, slipping through his grasp.

\---

Yen barely managed to get to the council room before the panic started. While teleporting into the city wasn’t that hard, getting through Philippa was definitely harder. Not because she wanted to stop Yen, but because she really wanted to know what it was Yen knew that she didn’t.

Yen just barely managed to get closer to the middle of the room. The seats on the far sides were empty because the Council was not in session yet, but the center of the room would offer the best view. 

There was movement through the crowd as both the Councilmen and Councilwomen drifted into the room in preparation for the evening session. With them came numerous assistants and scribes as well as hangers on and a multitude of petitioners. It was busy and loud. 

Dijkstra was seated in the far corner of the room at the end of the dais. He was dressed in dark green and brown court finery, and with it was the metal frame around his leg. A little something to remember Geralt by. She felt a vicious satisfaction at the fact his ankle had never healed right after Geralt broke it.

All around him were assistants that looked more like bodyguards as well as a veritable mass of people wanting his attention. When Yen was finally able to slip into position, she saw him talking with a well dressed noble. The stranger gesticulated sharply while Dijkstra watched on with an unreadable expression on his face. 

Yen did not come closer, so as not to warn him off too early.

It wasn’t a minute later and the first howl could be heard. Nervous titters trickled through the room after it as people muttered about the sound. A wolf howl? How preposterous. 

Yen held back a grim smile. It was difficult, but she managed. No need to give away the game so quickly. Even though she wasn’t trying to bring attention to herself, she would be watched here. If only by Philippa.

When the howling only got louder, so did the chatter in the room. These were important people. Nobles. Merchants. Officers of the government. They weren’t used to the fear that came with being hunted by the unknown. 

Most of them, anyways. Dijkstra didn’t look panicked at all. Not one bit. He gestured to his armed guards and had them circle about him. His chair was already positioned in a fairly defensible part of the room. Nothing behind him but more guards and a wall, with all the petitioners and the rest of the council spread out in front of him. 

As co-head of the council, Philippa sat nearby in her own place of honor. She had no guards about her. Why would she ever have the need? 

The moment the howling started up, she cast a flat look towards Yennefer, probably realizing the two events were related somehow. Not that Yen cared. Granted, it might make things a little strained in the future, but being here to watch this was _worth it_.

There was a surge of movement off to one side of the room as people scattered away from the wall. At this point, Yen had to stand up, just to get a look at what was going on. She wasn’t the only one either. Screams and yowls filled the hall as people rushed away from the source of the disturbance. Most people rushed towards the doors but a few, like Yen, were craning their heads, trying to see what was happening. 

The first hound burst right through the wall, oozing out of it. It looked almost liquid as it separated from the wall and glanced around with its glowing red eyes. At first it kept looking at people, trotting aimlessly here and there. 

Right up until it caught sight of Dijkstra. Then it tossed its head back, howling eerily with an empty, hollow voice. That was what triggered the full blown panic. People started to scream. They pushed chairs and furniture around, doing their best to get to the side doors and as far away from the creature as possible. But even their panic couldn’t cover the sound of other barks and strange yips answering the first call.

The sheer noise of it summoned the palace guards. Soldiers clad in red and white livery rushed in while screeching nobles tried to rush out. 

Philippa cast a shield around herself, completely forgoing trying to escape. Much like Yen, she could portal out if she needed. She stepped forward along with the guards, her face twisted into a sneer. 

Yen found herself leaning forward to watch. Her power was similar in many ways to Philippa’s, and she was very, very interested to see what, if any, effect it would have on Dracula’s creatures. While Yen had no plans to attack Dracula---that would have been both idiotic and counterproductive---it wouldn’t hurt to gather as much information as possible on the subject. 

Philippa raised a hand over her head, summoning a fire that grew and twisted in the air. It sputtered and sparked as it expanded, quickly growing into a ball the size of Philippa’s torso. With a flick of her fingers she sent it hurtling towards the first hound.

For a moment the room was bathed in light as the fire ate through the shadows of the demonic creature. But after the initial flash had dissipated, the hound was still there. Little drops of flame sluiced off of its hide like rain water shed from a leaf. 

For a moment the beast just stared at her. Its red eyes glowed as bright as illuminated rubies, leaving smudges of afterglow in the air. Then it dropped its jaw open and lolled its tongue out.

Almost like it was smiling at her. _Laughing_.

Its focus went back to Dijkstra, and the amused baring of teeth turned back into a snarl. 

A second hound sped through the wall, spreading inward like ink flowing through cloth. Then a third. Then several more, all twisting and turning about each other. Their claws scraped against the polished wood floor and their vicious growls echoed under the cacophony of panicking humans. 

Philippa tried acid next, tossing a ball of manifested, burning energy at them as if she were lobbing a toy to a child. That seemed to do some kind of damage, but the substance was swallowed up quickly in the shadows the beasts were made of. 

Water. Lightning. Cold. None of them had any effect beyond momentarily pushing the creatures back. Whatever damage they took was quickly swallowed up, consumed and regenerated in a heartbeat. 

And still they inched closer, a teeming mass of violence and death waiting to happen. The palace guards tried to make a line, a wall of steel and bodies between the beasts and their prey. Their swords and spears did nothing, though. They could have been stabbing air for all the harm it caused. 

But neither did the beasts bother with the guards. They pushed forward with a single-minded focus that reminded Yen more of a swarm of angry wasps than a pack of animals. It was plain to see the beasts could have torn the humans apart, yet they didn’t. She wondered if Dracula ordered no civilian casualties when he set his hounds to hunt or if they could only harm the person they were sent for.

Finally Philippa tried what Yen had been curious about from the moment she saw Dracula manifest for the first time in the kitchen of Kaer Morhen. She summoned up pure Light energy; its glowing radiance was so powerful that it was impossible to look at directly and it cast deep shadows from everything in the room.

When that energy touched the hounds, they _screamed_. The sound was terrifying. The sheer agony and hatred in it pierced Yen’s ears, driving a nail right down into her skull. 

But that wasn’t the worst of it. 

No, the worst part of those screams was how human they sounded. Not like a wolf or a monster at all, but like a tortured soul.

Yen swallowed down her irrational disappointment. She’d hoped Dracula’s creatures would be more resilient. Part of her was unwilling to believe that they could be vanquished so easily, but most of her was bitterly pissed off. This was just yet another task she would have to do herself. 

Then the Light faded. 

The beasts were still there.

Their bones showed through the shadows, red and dripping with blood, as if chunks of their bodies had been blown off by a witcher’s bomb. But still they moved. As as Yen watched, the muscle and fur oozed back over their bones, healing them back up into a seamless, healthy creature. It took less than half a minute for them to go from barely moving to flowing around each other like liquid shadow again.

The vicious snarls and yipps turned mocking. Not only that, but where as before the hounds never truly looked at any one human aside from Dijkstra, now they were now staring at Philippa and growling. At _her_.

Philippa’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped in shock. 

“Do it again, Philippa!” Dijkstra shouted at her. The room had long since cleared of anyone other than him, the guards, the sorceresses, and the hounds, so his voice echoed over the barking growls like a trumpet’s call. “Blast the monsters back to hell!”

Perhaps the beasts understood what he’d said, too, because as a group they began to inch towards her.

Philippa glanced back and forth between the monsters and Dijkstra, so quickly it was barely even a flicker of her attention. She snapped her jaw shut and took just the tiniest step backwards. Yen could almost see the wheels turning in her head, trying to work out just how much magic she had at her beck and call and just how badly she would need to drain herself to stop the hounds. 

A moment was all it took, and in that time the beasts kept coming. They crept forward, achingly slowly, sniffing as if they were savoring the scent of her in the air.

She pursed her lips, and one hand clenched into a fist. Then she teleported away in a quick flash of light and magic. 

Leaving Dijkstra to his fate.

“You _fucking whore_!” Dijkstra screamed. 

The hounds did not wait. They rushed as one at him, fading from one place to another and neatly bypassing his guards. 

The first hound locked his jaws against Dijkstra's left leg so hard that Yen could hear the screech of the metal brace warping under the bite. Dijkstra screamed in agony but he was too experienced to go down without a fight. He had a long dagger in his hand and slammed it into the muzzle of the hound biting him. He clearly wasn’t going for damage, he was just trying to force the jaws open.

His dagger had little to no effect. 

Suddenly, Yen had to wonder if it was because it was steel and not silver. Very, very few people aside from witchers carried silvered weapons. Even the Order of the Flaming Rose didn’t bother much with them, instead insisting that the blessings of the Eternal Flame would be enough to turn their followers weapons into implements of destruction against dark forces. 

Two of Dijkstra’s guards grabbed ahold of his arms, pulling him back away from the beast locked into his leg. But even with two strong men tugging against that monster’s bite, Dijkstra didn’t move an inch. The hound just dug in its feet, hunkered down, and snarled around Dijkstra’s bleeding leg.

“Take it! Cut it off and get me the hell out of here!” Dijkstra yelled at his men. Brutal. Ruthless even, but Yen expected no less. Dijkstra was a cold, calculating man, even with himself. He’d take the loss of a limb and run to live another day. Or he’d try, anyways.

Before his guards managed to carry out his order, another beast landed a bite on Dijkstra’s other leg, high up on the thigh. There was no metal frame there to soften the monster’s hold, and Dijkstra screamed in agony.

With two of them, the hounds jerked Dijkstra’s massive body out of the guards grip as if he was nothing more than a rag toy. Another hound joined them, its eyes were glowing brighter than the rest, the afterimages trailing light as it opened is maw and howled.

As if summoned, a black slash of energy appeared in the air in front of Dijkstra. The heat radiating from it was so powerful that Yen could feel it where she stood. 

It was a portal. A primitive one yes, but no less functional for that. A rip in reality. A tunnel leading to a place that emanated dark energy the way the sun radiated warmth.

The hounds jerked once, twice, and then they had Dijkstra in the portal. It only took a couple of seconds. 

The sudden silence was deafening as his screams were cut off, disappearing into the portal along with the hounds. As soon as the last shadow slipped in, the portal vanished as if it never was.

The guards milled around uneasily, looking between each other like they were lost. Each movement echoed in the sudden silence, and the fear was almost a tangible thing. Their lord and master, the most powerful man in the country, perhaps one of the most powerful men in the Northern Kingdoms, had been taken away by force. Near instantly. Just a handful of moments, not more than a quarter hour, and he was _gone_. All that was left was a puddle of his blood on the floor and the phantom memory of his screams in the air.

Yen took a few quick steps back and portaled away herself. No sense in sticking around for the clean up. 

She’d gotten what she wanted, after all. 

\---

Souls had a name, a taste, a scent. Each one was unique, and while only the Pack could taste them, everybody knew that a name given at birth had power. It may not be the current name, or even a fitting one, but it was the _first_ name, and it _mattered_.

The first two named souls were easy to find. Once the names were given, catching their scent in the air was not that hard. It took time to reach them and more to whittle them down from the multitude of souls surrounding their targets. But the Pack was experienced. The Pack knew how to hunt only the target. Only the marked souls were to be brought down to hell, no other.

The third name though...the third was a problem.

The Pack ran the world to and fro, from icy peaks of their Master’s home to the scorched planes that looked almost like their own home. But there was no scent on the air for them to catch. 

They _tried_. They burst through big clusters of souls hoping to find the last one hidden amongst their glow but to no avail. They even ran through the places so thick with power of Light their paws burned down to very bones, hoping that maybe the Light was hiding the souls in its glow. 

Nothing worked. There was no scent, no taste to catch as if the last name given to them was not the _first_ name.

With a _first_ name they could track anyone, anywhere, or so they thought. Even with no name and a bit of blood or hair or scent, they’d be able to do _something_.

But at the moment they had none of those things. No name to taste on the wind, no blood to follow back to where its heart beat, no scent to trace in footsteps left on the ground. 

Shame and upset burned in them. Their master ordered them to bring a name back, but they could not comply. They wanted to, oh they did, but there was just nothing to find.

Finally, they slunk back home, tails curled tight between their legs and bellies low to the ground. It was their duty to report failure, even if it meant punishment.

\---


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes from Quarra: Happy Holidays to those that celebrate. To those than don't, Happy Cheap Chocolate Egg Day.

When Dracula stepped onto the leaves, they crunched under his foot. The silence in the garden was absolute, making the rustling of leaves sound as loud as if there were bells tolling. The sound reverberated unnaturally through the greenhouse. He could feel the power sleeping in the garden slowly wake as its attention focused onto him. 

It did not act, though. Wouldn’t, since he’d already defeated it. 

He ignored the massive red canopy of leaves above him. Whatever was visible from this vantage point was merely the very top of the massive tree that the garden grew inside of. The whole space, every planter, sapling, and structure, was perched in its boughs. 

Dracula approached a thick palisade of green saplings and turned left, onto a winding path that led down. 

His footsteps echoed as he walked down the stone steps. The glass wall that marked the boundary of the garden was just barely visible far ahead of him, showing that this place was really a great greenhouse. 

On his left there was a stone wall, worn smooth by the ages. On his right the cliff dropped down, giving a view of the statues and maze of walls that surrounded the gnarled trunk of the eternal tree. Tall and exquisitely carved, the stone figures had their arms raised in offering to the tree. 

From this distance they looked to be human sized. But Dracula knew from experience that once he got down there the statues would prove to be many times taller than him. It was only the immense size of the tree that made them look average. 

The ground beneath the tree was covered with red leaves, red as blood of the people that died in this place.

While the stairs were clear of leaves, once he was at the bottom of the path they littered the ground in thick piles. The moment Dracula stepped back onto them the rustling, crunching sound resonated through the garden. The very air shivered with power, a vast _potential_ that slept uneasily inside the ageless trunk.

Here and there he could see age-bleached bones poking out from the leaves, where soldiers fell so long ago to the god Agreos’ madness and rage.

With each step closer to the main truck of the tree, the air became thicker with tension, with _potential_. 

He hadn’t been here since he killed Agreos. Not this close to the tree, anyways. He could feel Orlaith manifesting just beyond the entrance to the greenhouse. Her power was both limitless and exceedingly limited. While everything around the greenhouse belonged to the castle, to her, the tree inside of it wasn’t part of it. Not really.

It slept, never peaceful, always wary, though it seemed to Dracula that it was waiting. Some part of him suspected it would wait until it ceased to exist as whatever consciousness lay inside it slowly faded with time. There were no worshippers to keep it alive any more. No mouths to repeat the true name of the being of power that he defeated so long ago. He knew it as Pan and Agreos, two sides of the same coin. Those were not the power’s true names. Merely that which humans knew the best, and a useful way to connect to it.

The red, dry leaves were thicker around the trunk, piled up in places where he remembered only patches of dry earth being visible before.

He stopped under the breathtaking canopy and looked up at the seemingly-endless branches with their crimson leaves. They nearly glowed in the setting sun. There was beauty in the sight of it, even when he could tell that each branch, every gnarled twist and lush leaf, was alive and watching him silently. 

It was like having a million eyes turned on him. A teeming multitude of minds that all formed a cohesive whole listening to his every move, every breath.

There was a rustle in the braches. It was the only sound not caused by him. An owl landed on one of the lower branches; it was the guardian of this place, as ageless as the tree itself. This close it was obvious the creature was not merely a giant bird. Its claws weren’t like anything a natural bird could ever have; they were far too long, just this side of impractical. 

The bird watched him with red eyes as he touched the trunk of the tree. The bark was as smooth and alive as human skin. Dracula could feel the slow pulse of life inside it, like the thrum of blood pulsing in an animal’s veins. He broke the contact, uncomfortable with the way his heart tried to match the strange rhythm. 

Dracula nudged one of the new piles of leaves with his foot. The mound fell apart, showing him a hint of what he already suspected.

He knelt down and pushed more of the leaves aside.

Saplings grew there. Nothing more than a few inches of pale green tendrils reaching up from the ground, barely two leaves on each. 

But they _existed_. That meant the tree was waking up, was coming back to life. Brand new trees had finally taken seed after endless centuries of laying dormant.

The owl fled down again, this time resting on one of the outstretched arms of the statues surrounding the main trunk of the tree. When Dracula looked up at it, it stretched its wings wide, making itself look bigger.

It didn’t attack him, not yet, but something in the way the air was all but filled with anticipation told him it wanted to.

He looked down at the smattering of tiny saplings he uncovered and wondered.

Was it time’s passing that made the tree wake up, or was it something else?

\---

Vanessa was up with the dawn. That wasn’t unusual. What was unusual was that she was covered in damn _hay_.

Ever since the army showed up, the little town of Goose Landing had been crammed with off-duty officers and bored mages. The little inn, such that it was, had been slammed morning ‘til night with patrons. Booze was flying off the shelf and Vanessa had started to consider doubling or even tripling her next batch of mead.

Things only got worse after King Henselt had blown in with his retinue and the black city’s gates had opened up. Within a day, the army had shifted back and started settling in. Lumber had been purchased en masse, so much that the locals had given up their daily fur lines just to chop wood. The smith was busy enough he took on three lads to help him stoke fire and straighten old nails. Anything to feed the machine that was the army moving in.

More impressive than that were the foreigners. So many foreigners. Envoys and mages and elegantly armed guards. They started trickling in by portal, the magic light shows happening day and night making it hard to sleep between the booms of the teleports opening. Immediately they began buying up land, which was both cheap and plentiful, and made noises about building up embassies. 

They’d have their fancy buildings soon enough; they were pouring enough gold into the effort for it after all. But until then there were a whole host of fancy city visitors and not nearly enough space to hold them. Sure, plenty brought their own campaign tents, but many didn’t. People all around the village, Vanessa included, had given up their own beds to the travelers. The sheer price they could charge for such meager comforts made it worth sleeping in their barns and stables.

Which is why Vanessa was currently covered in hay. Even though spring was well on its way, it was cold as _balls_ outside, and they’d only little braziers to keep themselves warm in the barns. While she loved the tidy sums of silver, and even gold, that she was getting for each and every bed in her inn, Vanessa could not _wait_ to get back into her comfortable bed at nighttime.

Even the furs were a rare commodity now, because the wealthier soldiers who were still forced to sleep in tents outside bought up all the blankets and furs available. Hell, Vanessa heard that Palo even sold all his raw hides.

To Vanessa’s vast relief, Palo and Mika had snuck back into town a few hours before the city had opened up. That witcher girl, Ciri, had come with them, stopping by briefly to reassure them that those in Kaer Morhen would try to help the locals where they could. Palo and Mika confirmed it; the witchers were keen to keep their neighbors safe and in exchange they wanted an ear kept to the ground.

Doria was overjoyed to see her husband and father-in-law, and Vanessa was thrilled that she had less people to worry about. Late that night, as the castle walls had opened up, a few of the locals huddled together in Vanessa’s inn and _planned_.

Within days, Vanessa and others in the village had coin but nothing more to sell. Whatever horses capable of pulling a cart were long since sent out to the bigger towns around to buy up supplies. Only, Vanessa wasn’t sure they would be able to find anything. 

Oreton and Drudge were bigger than Goose Landing, but they weren’t cities by any stretch of imagination. The supplies they had to offer were limited, too. And those were the only two towns one could reach in less than two days on horse. After that, there was Honeybrew three days out and Crossing Bridge another day after that. A rider on a good horse would make it faster, sure, or even just travelers alone, but a horse pulling a heavy cart of goods? That took time.

She’d heard that the baker’s daughter took their old donkey and set out to Drudge to try and buy more flour and sugar. Not surprising since John was saying that he was almost out of the supplies that were supposed to last him until the next harvest. 

Ciri had been as good as her word, and Vanessa’s old nag of a beast had been returned promptly. Because of that, Vanessa found herself contemplating selling it as well. But who would she sell to? 

For a moment, she wondered how the witchers were faring up in their keep. Palo had such tales of things that happened there, things whispered in secret and just between themselves. It wasn’t pride to say that Vanessa was an important person in their little town, and as such she knew a little more than most. People talked as they drank and every rumor that came through Goose Landing ended up in her ears at one point or another. 

It was through this means that Vanessa knew that Henselt had gotten himself in quite a pickle. All the mages were quietly, very, very quietly, whispering about some curse or blackness on his soul. The wouldn’t say more, but from the looks they gave each other and the fearful way they spoke of it, they knew it for fact. 

Something terrifying had come out of the city walls, but for whatever reason it had decided to stay its hand.

Some said that there was a witcher with them, an old man. Others said that a full swarm of demons came out of the city as an honor guard when the gates opened up. 

It was the guards of the various envoys that said the most interesting things. The diplomats themselves were tight lipped as a rule, but sometimes their underlings got to drinking. And where drinking went, so did talking. 

A treaty had been made with the lord of the black city. The details of it weren’t public knowledge quite yet, but the envoys had all shown up to try and get a piece of whatever pie was being offered. 

Oddly enough, the only firm word that was being spread around was that witchers weren’t to be bothered. People were free to hire them if they wanted, but whatever order there had been to hunt them down had been rescinded. 

_Vehemently_. 

All of this swirled in Vanessa’s head as she went about her day. She’d hired an extra three working hands out of her neighbor’s children to help around the kitchen and the bar, and still there wasn’t enough labor. She’d made enough damn gold in the last week that she was considering expanding the inn. Adding in a few more rooms and an outside oven for the kitchen. If she did that, she’d probably have to give her inn a proper name. 

From what Palo had said, it was the witchers that were keeping the demon city in line. 

The witchers had always watched out for them, truth be told. Paid good coin. Killed the monsters. Drank and ate whatever was offered with relish. Told fine stories.

It made her think of the perfect name for her inn. 

She’d have to go to Mayor Luthor and get a sign painted up. He could write the words on it. They wouldn’t do the townsfolk any good, but the new visitors coming in would have a name for their meeting place. She could decorate the sign, too, that way those who didn’t know their letters would get the right idea when looking at it. 

Just as she was considering heading down the street to talk to Luthor, some commotion had come from down the main street. A man yelling for attention. Vanessa wasn’t the only one who poked her head out the inn window, though she did so after making sure her son was watching the bar.

“....Attention!” the man called. An officer from Henselt’s army, from the looks of it, all polished up on his fine horse. The king’s emblem was on his tabard, a gold field with black unicorn rearing up, and the man had honest to gods shining plate on.

“Attention!” he called out again, gathering a few more villagers to his cries. “By order of the king, any being wearing the livery of Lord Dracula of the Dark City is to be treated civilly, as an honored ally to the kingdom of Kaedwen. The local government _shall not_ condone harassment of any kind towards them, on pain of death.” The officer had a cloth banner hanging from his outstretched hand. On it was painted a red field with a black dragon. “This is our new ally’s colors and symbol. A copy shall be posted on your notice board so that word can be spread. To disobey this command is to personally gain King Henselt’s ire. That is all.”

Then the officer rode over to their town meeting hall and affixed something next to the door. 

“Wilhelm! Watch the inn!” Vanessa called out, making her way over to take a closer look.

Sure enough, there was what she assumed was the decree, complete with royal seal and a little painted picture of the black dragon on a small wooden board. 

It was damn curious that the herald didn’t mention the fact that the Dark City’s inhabitants weren’t human. Or maybe only _looked_ human. Palo had told her about the succubus and incubus; friendly as could be and eating right along side witchers and other demons. None of that was information she’d spread around, not even a whisper of it. But it was good to know.

She’d always thought that witchers only killed monsters, but perhaps they tamed them, too. There were other, much less friendly mutterings that witchers were as much a monster as the beasts they hunted, but Vanessa did not share that sentiment. She’d seen them do too much good to believe it.

As long as they managed to keep themselves and their beasts in check and they kept the army from trampling her little village into dust, she couldn’t care less what company they kept. 

It didn’t take her long to rustle up some supplies and a bit of coin for her sign. Normally she might have just made the damn thing herself, barring the lettering, but the inn was just too busy. She needed every hand possible behind the counter working. 

She got one of the local woodcutters to make her a good, stout sign to hang up and even had them add some hooks to chain it from the roof. For the benefit of all those who couldn’t read, she had the man make her two wooden swords to put on it; one she painted silver, and the other dark grey. The silver paint was expensive, but this would be worth it. The inn’s name needed to be recognizable.

_The Twin Swords_. 

It was a good sign with nice, fine, red lettering and the fake swords fit well nailed right at the bottom. One silver, one steel, just like a witcher’s blades.

Vanessa knew it was a gamble, associating herself and her inn with the witchers so obviously. There was bound to be a little backlash from the locals, what with all the demons moving in. If the situation went south, she and everyone else associated with her would go down in flames. 

But the witchers themselves had promised to do everything they could to keep their little town safe, to keep the demons in line. They saved Palo and Mika. Hell, they stopped by on the regular and killed anything nasty that tried to take up residence. They always made a lot of stir when they brought the grisly remains as proof, but Palo had told her that he saw tracks indicating the witchers killed more beasts than they demanded payment for. A bit of a neighborly favor. 

The town of Goose Landing could stand to show the witchers a little support. 

She had her sign finished and mounted by the next evening.

\---

Eskel sat in his usual chair by the bed, quietly reading. 

Geralt was in a comfortable position on the bed and had slipped into a deep meditation, the first real trance for him since he’d arrived in this place. 

It was a good sign. It meant that Geralt was feeling well enough to attempt it, and that was _excellent_. The exhausted bouts of sleep and quasi meditation were good for rest, but they wouldn’t help speed along his healing like a solid trance would. 

It was also completely unsurprising that Geralt had gone for sex before attempting to heal himself. 

When Eskel and Iga had gotten back the room in the wee hours of last night, the scent of sex still hung heavy in the air. Eskel was too tired and too drunk to complain over much. After hitting the bathroom, he and Iga had fallen onto one of the couches along the wall and he’d promptly passed out. 

When he woke up, wrapped around Iga like a boa constrictor, it was late in the morning and Alucard had already fled to work downstairs. 

Ciri and Yen had shown up shortly after that, bringing with them news of who exactly had tried to kill Geralt. 

The bedroom seemed emptier now with Dracula and Iga gone. Both had returned to Kaer Morhen when Ciri and Yen left. Eskel wasn’t sad to see Yen go---he’d never really gotten along well with her---but it was a bit of a shame that Ciri had to leave too. She had work to do, though, and everyone knew it. Just as it was no question that Dracula would be leaving as well. 

The very air seemed different with Dracula’s absence. There was weight to his presence, a palpable _something_ that Eskel had gotten so used to that he’d only noticed it when it was gone.

Maybe the quiet would be good. Geralt still needed rest and the more people around the more likely he’d want to be awake and talking. 

There was also the impending conversation with Alucard to get through. He and Eskel hadn’t really had a chance to talk without humans around yet. It made an unhappy ball of nerves settle in Eskel’s stomach.

He was worried as hell that Alucard would just do everything in his power to ignore whatever was happening. But Eskel couldn’t. Hell, he didn’t want to. He had to know what he was capable of. That could mean life or death out on the Path. More than that, he felt...unfinished, now. Like something was left hanging. Or missing.

But easing his discomfort wasn’t worth losing Alucard over. As much as it grated against his very bones, Eskel knew that he would put up with an awful lot just to make sure that Alucard stayed a fixture in his life. 

All of these thoughts raced around in his head as he waited, watching Geralt meditate. Staring at a book that couldn’t hold his interest. He’d meditate himself, but he didn’t want to leave Geralt undefended. 

Later, maybe. He wanted to bring himself back into balance as much as he could.

When Alucard walked through the bedroom door, it was like time froze for a second. Everything crystalized around them as Eskel took in the sight of his dark suit and pale shirt, his long, tightly bound hair, and the strange, fake eye color. Eskel’s breath caught in his throat.

Then the moment was gone, and Eskel was finally able to rip his gaze away. He stared at the words on the page of his book, not really seeing any of them.

“I think my magic is making it worse,” Alucard said. “This place.” His words were uncharacteristically disjointed, confusing Eskel.

“This place?”

Alucard rubbed his face.

“This tower belonged to a necromancer, a mage of great power, for a long time before I took over. I overlaid most of his spells with my own, but the whole construction…it was a brilliant idea really, to use the plans and materials to serve as an amplifier. My power, every aspect of it, is…amplified here in ways I hadn’t considered before.” Alucard sighed. “This is the worst possible place for this thing to happen between us.”

All Eskel could really do was sit there for a moment. 

Finally he said, “Witchers use magic, but we aren’t really mages. The shit we can do is just...a party trick compared to a real caster. I couldn’t feel your power before. But I can now.” He looked around the room. “I can see it in the walls, in the air. In you.” Eskel cast a furtive glance in Alucard’s direction in an attempt to gauge his reaction. 

“I think that once outside those walls the reaction should not be as…visceral.”

Eskel tilted his head to look at Alucard in confusion. “It’s not a bad thing. Not really even unexpected either. I can see Dracula’s power the same way. Ever since I started drinking in his power. Before that, I could just barely feel his...I donno. Energy, I guess. But now.” He shrugged. “I can feel it in the air, too. Taste it. His mood rides on his power, and it’s a hell of a lot easier to read than his expression.”

He looked Alucard up and down, noting how stiffly he held himself. No matter how well made or expensive, being in a suit for a long period of time couldn’t be comfortable. 

“I meant the reaction when we...when we see each other,” Alucard said softly. “This place is making it stronger, along with everything else.”

_Ah_.

“I suppose we’ll find out.” Eskel shrugged. While he didn’t much care for being stunned stupid for a few seconds every time he and Alucard got in a room together, it wasn’t the worst thing that could happen. Not much he could do about it anyways. “...Does it bother you?”

“It’s not my life that’s being turned upside down,” Alucard said gently. “It’s my power that has altered you.”

There was some truth to that. Eskel slumped his shoulders and stared at the floor. The rough feel of their blocked bond grated against his nerves, but he couldn’t stop feeling around it. Like tonguing a sore tooth.

“I guess it’s stupid of me to think this is an _us_ issue, rather than just messing _me_ up,” he said quietly. “I donno. I thought that you might be feeling it, too.” 

Eskel shook his head, unbearably depressed about that thought for a moment. All of this wasn’t so bad when he thought they were in it together. But having Alucard say this wasn’t really something that affected him was frustrating. 

Then he straightened his spine and looked up to Alucard again. “I don’t think I was wrong on that, though. Seems to me that this has made us more like…” he struggled for the words, “partners, I suppose. And, yes, I know I’m likely to get the brunt of any unpleasantness.” He waved a dismissive hand.

“The connection is more sensual than I expected this type of bond to be. It’s more like a reaction to a lover, really,” Alucard said calmly.

“I suppose it depends on how you define ‘lover’.” Eskel thought back through his already long life and considered just how many women he’d fucked in that time. “Geralt’s amorous tendencies may be legendary, known to all far and wide, but the rest of us witchers aren’t really choosy in who we sleep with. I’ve had many, many lovers. But none of them I react to like I do to you and Dracula. There’s a closeness…”

For a moment Eskel had to wonder if this was how Geralt felt every time he saw Yennefer. That sudden pause, the startled recognition. Maybe he’d ask sometime. 

“You really call them lovers?” Alucard said dryly. “Any whore you ever slept with is a lover to you?”

“I did,” Eskel said with a tilt of his head. “What else would I call them?”

“Companions? Bed partners? In your world, isn’t the word connected to love at all?” 

Heat filled up Eskel’s cheeks as embarrassment reared up. “That could just be me,” he grumbled quietly. “We’re not supposed to feel anything. Geralt does, always has. I...may have issues.”

“I am not sure how to react,” Alucard said, his shoulders slumping a little. “Should I argue the sheer untruth of your words, or let you go on in your firm delusion that you feel nothing?” Alucard spread his hands, looking lost. “I’m not sure which is better for you.”

“I’m aware that I do actually have emotions.” Eskel’s voice was as dry as a desert. “But that doesn’t stop me from being anxious because I’m not _supposed_ to have them. And, to be honest, usually it’s not an issue. Geralt cares a lot, for a lot of people. I...don’t.”

“It’s a nature versus nurture question,” Alucard said. “And looking at you, at Geralt, even at Lambert and how he relates to Night, how angry he is, I think your supposed emotionlessness is nothing but brainwashing, an idea pounded into your heads since you were too young to know better.” Alucard looked away, to the windows on the other side. “This is how it’s done, you know. Empathy has to be taught, it doesn’t just appear in people out of nowhere. If you are not taught it, and at the same time taught you have no emotions, you start to believe it.”

As brutally honest as Alucard’s words were, Eskel still had to laugh a little. “It’s not brainwashing, Alucard. It’s armor. We’re meant to fight and die. Alone. Do you know what it’s like on the Path? Have you watched Geralt with your little birds? We’re spit on, everywhere we go. We’re trained to be as callous as we need to be to survive the solitude. That’s why our brothers are so important to us. They’re the only other people who _know_.”

“I know,” Alucard said gently. “But I also know that this kind of ‘armor’ only lasts for a while. Thing is, it’s not designed for people who survive their youth.” 

He perched against the armrest of the chair Dracula favored in the room. It anyone else the move might have looked casual, but Eskel could see the stiffness in his posture, like he was holding back. 

“Once you build up your own experiences, travel the world alone…once you have time enough to live and grow, the armor proves brittle and shatters eventually.” Alucard pushed the strands of hair that escaped his braid back and continued, speaking as quietly as if Eskel was a spooked mare. “Geralt remembered more than most boys in the training. He and Lambert. It’s why they turned out different. Lambert knew he wasn't emotionless, knew what he lost, so he turned to anger. Geralt knew he was missing something, so he looked hard for that connection. For better or worse, you didn’t have that sense of loss at the start of your Path. Your armor held up longer than most.”

None of this was news to Eskel. He’d thought a lot on their nature and on the differences between him and Geralt. Alucard pointing them out didn’t make the situation any more comfortable to bear, though. 

He cleared his throat, trying to swallow around the lump there. 

“Usually we’re dead before it becomes an issue. Or we just learn to live without, like Vesemir.” 

“I think you will find that’s no longer quite as probable as before,” Alucard said dryly.

“What? Dying?” 

Alucard nodded.

Eskel snorted in amusement. “Yeah, it seems likely that my chances of that have gone down.” Which was actually a very odd sensation. 

“Very much so,” Alucard looked very pleased at the fact.

“You are channeling your father,” Eskel said dryly.

“Yes,” Alucard said serenely.

That simple acceptance made Eskel huff in laughter. Sometimes Alucard and Dracula were very, very much alike. 

He thought for a moment, circling back around to the topic at hand. “I guess what I’m saying is I wouldn’t know if this, that...feeling when we see each other, is anything like being in love with someone. I’ve never had the pleasure. Didn’t really think it was an option.” He licked his lips and shut his book, thumbing along spine. “It’s a little distracting, but I don’t dislike it. If I had to have that reaction to anyone, I’m glad it was you. You already hold a lot of what little is left of my heart anyways. You and your father. And…” Heat burned across his cheeks. “Well. You and I already talked a little bit about maybe being lovers, too.”

Alucard blushed.

“Why are you blushing?” Eskel asked, surprised.

Alucard smiled, a crooked little thing.

“Sex is not something, uh, that comes easy to me.” Alucard shrugged minutely.

“Gods, but I have the opposite problem,” Eskel groaned quietly. “I’ve been whoring around for the better part of a century. It’s so much harder to deal with people I care about.”

“It’s pretty much opposite for me,” Alucard said quietly. “I generally am not interested until I have a real connection to the person.” Then he grinned wryly. “Excluding Geralt. He…kind of put everything upside down.”

“He’s very good at that.” Eskel smiled just as wryly. “He excels at it, even.”

As they talked, Eskel noticed that some of the tension in Alucard’s body had eased up. Some. Not nearly as much as Eskel would have preferred.

“Do you want to get more comfortable, maybe?” Eskel asked tentatively. “Those things in your eyes must bother you.”

Alucard gave him a small, grateful smile.

“Yes.” He straightened and went to the small end table where a box of his supplies lay. Then he pulled the things out, dropping them into tiny jars filled with something that smelled like slightly salty water. 

“Much better now,” Alucard sighed, and turned to look at Eskel with his normal gold on black eyes.

It was good to see his natural coloring again. Something about the weird fake brown of the contacts nettled Eskel, though he would never admit it out loud. Alucard did what he had to so that he would look human here and Eskel respected that. 

“I’m glad,” Eskel said simply. 

He wanted to reach out, to offer Alucard a seat on his knee or maybe ask if they could sit together. Somehow he thought that Alucard wouldn’t want it, though. Especially not with the subject at hand. He’d want a clear head while they were discussing whatever the fuck they were going to do about this bond that they had. Or not do, as the case may be. 

It was still hard not to reach out. Maybe if he got the conversation over with, they could have an opportunity to be a little close for a while.

“Alucard.” He licked his lips, trying to think of how to say this right. “I grew claws yesterday,” he blurted out instead. 

Then he winced. That was just...great. Gods, he was so bad at words.

Alucard blinked.

“Claws?” He lifted his hand and curled his fingers out to mimic claws.

Eskel nodded, eyes a little wide. He winced again. “On a related note, some of your roof is, err, a little scratched. Nothing serious,” he was quick to assure. “I mean, it’s all fine up there. But apparently steel and stone aren’t really a solid deterrent for them.”

Alucard blinked at him.

“What kind of claws were they?” he asked, leaning towards Eskel with a very focused look on his face.

“They were unique. Not like any monster I’ve seen, and not like your father’s either. Black. A little curved.” Eskel shrugged. 

“Hmm.” Alucard considered this for a second. “Curved? Like feline claws?” He crooked his fingers, demonstrating at Eskel.

Eskel hunkered down a little in his chair, suddenly feeling extremely grumpy. “Dracula kept calling them kitten claws,” he grumbled sourly. 

Alucard’s eyes grew a little wider.

“Kitten claws,” he repeated quietly, looking at Eskel’s hands as if trying hard to imagine the claws there.

“A man can’t even be ferocious and dangerous looking with fucking _claws_ coming out of his hands. It’s all, ‘oh they’re so cute!’” Eskel bitched quietly. He crossed his arms, conveniently shoving his offending hands into hiding. 

“Father said they were cute? Really?” Alucard asked, eyes suspiciously bright.

“Gods, it was awful. He kept teasing them and pulling at them!” 

Just the thought of it was enough to make Eskel bristle with annoyance. There was no _way_ he was going to mention the squeaking, though. He’d already erased the security footage of it. That little secret could stay between him and the roof.

“Pulling at them,” Alucard repeated softly.

Then Eskel looked up and saw that Alucard was making little pinching motions with his fingers. He couldn’t stop the reflective flinch of horror at the motion. 

He nodded though. “He did help me, err, put them away. Once he was done teasing me, anyways. But I haven’t really gotten the hang of doing it myself yet.”

“Partial transformation, huh.” Alucard rubbed his chin. “I used to do that back when I was human.” He frowned. “But never since.” He frowned harder. “Father keeps changing shape but it’s different from the kind of shape shifting I do. My starting point is a human form, his isn’t. I think yours will also be human.” 

That was a new piece of information.

“What was your partial form before? Was there just one or more?” Eskel asked, feeling strangely invested in the answer.

“Wolfman.” Alucard shrugged. “Close to a werewolf in shape, wolf features on a humanoid form.”

“You don’t do it anymore?”

“My abilities changed after I died. I gained other forms, but lost the ability to partially shift.”

“But you remember how that felt?” Eskel pressed.

“Yes,” Alucard said with a nod.

“Then you can teach me? Because being irritated into popping out the claws is not my preferred method of changing.”

Alucard winced.

“Father was _helping_?”

Eskel heaved a sigh and nodded. “I mean, it worked. The claws came in and out. And I did get to blow off some steam. But…” 

He held up a hand as if to say, _what can you do_. Dracula’s definition of ‘helping’ sometimes didn’t feel very helpful.

“I know,” Alucard sighed. “I will try to teach you what I know.” Alucard didn’t sound very sure of himself. “But you have to remember. I was a Belmont. We had a talent for magic and were trained in using magic and spells from a very young age. The shape shifting was a spell for me, not an inborn talent.”

“At this point I’m willing to take anything more explicit than, ‘I want claws, I get claws,’” Eskel grumbled. “And I’m not totally unfamiliar with magic. Just...very, very rudimentary. Witchers get enough training to do our signs and properly infuse our potions and that’s it.” He thought about it. “Although, we do pick some stuff up along the Path. And at this point I wouldn’t mind a basic primer in general magic, too.”

Alucard nodded.

“I will get you the Collected Tomes of Abernatous. The Magical Theorem, hmm, probably the first eight volumes, and a few other books that you will have to read beforehand. They are specifically designed to explain the basics of magic, so it’s going to be better than me trying to explain and being scattered all over the place.” Alucard grinned crookedly. “It’s been so long that I take the knowledge for granted.”

“Well it’s a good thing I like to read,” Eskel said with some amusement. “If something else comes up, something new, I’ll try to come see you anyways.”

It was a relief to know that he would have access to _some_ kind of instruction, and truthfully the books sounded like a better idea than in-person lessons. Trying to get trained in abilities that he might never manifest sounded like a giant waste of time for everyone.

“You need the books just so that we can talk in the same language. I don’t know what things are called in your world, magical terms and theories. You need to know those to even understand me.” Alucard sighed. “I’m afraid cultural differences will be a problem.”

Eskel nodded. That settled at least one of their issues, or at least gave Eskel some way to move forward on them. But there was also the bond in general. This was going to be a sticky point for Alucard, he was sure of it.

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“How do you want to proceed with this connection.” Eskel waved a hand back and forth between them. “This bond.”

It was very tempting to keep fidgeting, to shift and bite his lip, to do something to give his nerves an outlet. Eskel forced himself into stillness and ignored the lead in his stomach.

“I would prefer not to make any decisions about,” Alucard hesitated, “any possible intimacy when the bond is so fresh and so…sexual in nature.”

That made sense. It hurt, but it made sense. Eskel reminded himself that this wasn’t a rejection, this was just Alucard saying that nothing new should happen between them until this settled.

“You are ancient in ways I can only dream about. What is ‘fresh’ for you?” Eskel asked evenly. “Give me some context to work with. What is your metric for when things have settled enough?”

Alucard looked torn.

“Eight weeks away from this place should be sufficient to clear our energy pathways of the influence of the amplification spells.”

That was sooner than Eskel expected, to be honest. But he didn’t like how torn Alucard looked. 

“Alright. That’s fine,” he said with a nod. “Once that settles down, we can see how things are with the bond. Then...” He clenched his jaw, suddenly resigned to the worry that Alucard was going to react poorly to what he was about to say. “After that, can we start to test this a little? I’m not saying stop the blocking altogether. Just maybe try a little. We can have Dracula there to help, if it would make you feel better.”

“We should test, yes. But very carefully and…the bond can never again be opened fully. Not when I’m coherent and, god forbid, focusing. I made focusing my will my weapon, the only thing that let me survive the change as a vampire, to kill the hunger.” Alucard wet his lips. “I don’t even want to imagine what would happen to you the first time I cast a spell if the bond is open.”

“That’s fair.” Eskel ran a hand down his face, and took a slow breath. “I can deal with that. As long as we try to figure the limits of this at _some_ point. I feel…” He opened his mouth and paused. “Unfinished. No. Maybe just off balance.” 

Gods, it was so annoying to not know exactly how every bit of his body worked. He hadn’t felt this unmoored for years. He shook his head.

“Unfinished?” Alucard frowned again. “Like you are waiting or…growing?”

“I can’t tell.” Eskel shrugged helplessly. “It’s like there’s something missing, and I know the missing thing is you, but I don’t know how that fits. And I don’t know how I fit with myself anymore. I can’t tell what my body is supposed to be...to _be_. I’m unsettled, I guess is the best way to describe it.”

Alucard twisted his fingers together, as clear a sign of guilty nerves as he ever saw on the vampire.

“Part of it might be this place. At least I hope it is. Part might also be the bond you have with my Father. I saw the mark change.” He nodded towards Eskel’s chest. “But some of it has to be because of the bond.” He frowned and looked down at his hands. “I can sense you,” Alucard admitted. “I can’t even pinpoint which senses are responsible for the sensation but…I can feel potential there, in that connection.”

“I can wait,” Eskel said firmly. “As long as I know that we’ll do something about it at some point, I can wait.” Now it was his turn to look to his hands curled on his lap. “I don’t know that I can feel you, but I feel the lack of you.”

“You do know that nothing has to change, right?” Alucard asked quietly.

Eskel looked at him. “What do you mean?”

He thought he knew, but in this he needed Alucard to be explicit. Neither one of them could really afford misunderstandings, not with how delicate things seemed between them. 

“The way things were between you and my Father, the way we were close…this doesn’t have to change, not unless you want to.”

When Dracula had poked and prodded him into a rage on the roof, Eskel had been forced to put into words things he’d been avoiding for a long time. Maybe Alucard should hear them too.

“I don’t want the closeness we had to go away,” Eskel said. He couldn’t quite manage to look up to Alucard’s face, but he was at least looking in his general direction. Eskel’s eyes burned a little with the bottled up emotion, and his throat was tight. “I think I need you, you and Dracula both. You make me feel wanted and cared for. Spending time wrapped up with you is one of the few good things in my life. Don’t take it. Please.”

Alucard made an aborted move, as if he was torn between reaching for Eskel and flinching.

“I won’t,” he said hoarsely. “I swear I won’t.” His voice softened. “I don’t want to lose it either.”

The need to reach out bit under his skin like stinging ants. A dull, throbbing ache filled him up. All he wanted to do was reach out, but he desperately didn’t want to pressure Alucard. He was helpless to stop himself from leaning forward, just a little, and his nails dug into his palms in an effort to keep himself under control.

“Would it---” Eskel had to stop to swallow, his throat too dry to continue. “Would it be alright if we touched now?” He tried to make the request sound casual, though he wasn’t sure he was doing a very good job. “I can see how you flinch back. If it’s too uncomfortable, or you only want it once in a while, or after eight weeks or whatever, that’s fine. I know enough about magic to guess that touch might make the bond stronger. If you don’t want that then we can skip touching until you feel alright with it.”

It physically pained him to say those words. Maybe it was just the building giving Alucard’s power a boost, or the freshness of their bond, or maybe it was just the fact that they were standing in the same room, but Eskel’s skin felt like it was crawling with the need to reach out and hold Alucard. 

Regardless of that feeling, he wouldn’t coerce Alucard into it. Not even a little. There would be no guilt trips from him about this whole mess; neither one of them deserved that. Whatever he was feeling, he could hold it down, hold it back; if Alucard decided that he needed space then Eskel would respect that decision.

Alucard looked softly at him and tilted a tiny bit forward.

“I told you already, nothing has to change. I do not want anything to change.” 

Eskel practically jumped out of his chair he was moving so quickly. It only took a few long steps to stand in front of Alucard. There he paused, hand partially outstretched. Anxiety tickled up his spine, though why he couldn't say. The hesitation only lasted a moment, then he slid a hand onto Alucard’s waist.

A ripple of relief went through him and the itch under his skin eased. Slowly, he reeled Alucard in, pressing them together from neck to knees. That wonderful fur and frost scent filled his nose, and he couldn’t help but turn his head into it, nuzzling up into Alucard’s jaw.

Alucard’s hand was on the small of his back, pressing him close. He made a small, rumbling sound in his chest and tilted his head towards Eskel.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Something unclenched in Eskel’s heart and he squeezed Alucard tightly. It felt so good to finally be able to touch. Even though Alucard’s skin felt cool against his cheek, Eskel felt warm for the first time all day. He ran a hand over Alucard’s hair, feeling each knot of his tight braid. The fabric of the suit got in the way, though. Eskel wanted nothing more than the electric comfort of skin on skin contact.

“Touching is good,” he said roughly. His voice was more of a growl than usual, low and harsh. “But skin is good too. Take off your shirt? Just that,” he assured quickly. “Nothing else. It’s just…”

Eskel rubbed his nose into Alucard’s jaw and his eyes fluttered closed in pleasure.

“Do you feel it too?” he asked quietly. “The need to touch?”

Alucard hesitated, Eskel could feel the way he took in a deep breath.

“I trained myself not to pay attention,” Alucard said finally.

Eskel nodded. That made sense, given what little he knew of Alucard’s long life. He could even sympathize to a large extent. Witchers didn’t get a lot of positive touch. It was one of the reasons they all tended to frequent whorehouses so regularly. Sometimes it was just nice to have a warm body to hold. More often than not, they just did without.

He waited, just holding Alucard close. 

Regardless of Alucard’s assurances, sooner or later Eskel would head back to his world and his Path and their opportunities to cuddle would drop drastically. He’d enjoy whatever he could until then.

Alucard pulled back eventually and Eskel let him go with regret. He watched avidly as Alucard reached up for his tie, undoing the smooth knot and pulling the silk apart. His long, pale throat was bared and Eskel desperately wanted to touch that freshly revealed skin. He waited, though, because Alucard was unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it apart. The whole of the large scar across Alucard’s chest was revealed and his hands itched. He needed to touch that skin so badly, needed to feel Alucard close. 

Later, when the bond settled, when he was away from this place, he would probably feel embarrassed for the neediness. That seemed very likely. He ignored that thought anyways; it was far less important than getting his hands on Alucard.

“What about you?” Alucard asked.

“Hm?” Eskel startled a little, suddenly realizing he’d been staring a little too intently.

Alucard pulled at Eskel’s shirt collar. “Skin contact?”

“Yes.” Eskel nodded hard, his voice filled with both relief and enthusiasm. 

Buttons seemed like too much work to bother with. Instead he grabbed the bottom of his shirt with both hands and pulled it off over his head, leaving his knife harness visible. It only took a few seconds to strip that off as well, leaving his chest bare except for his wolf medallion.

Alucard’s eyes slid down Eskel’s chest, lingering on the five parallel scars that wrapped around his shoulder and went down to the middle of his belly. One of his newer marks.

“They look better,” Alucard said, pointing at the scars that were no longer as pink and raised as they should be.

“Voice is better, too,” Eskel said ruefully. “Dracula kind of implied that my scars might end up as healed as Geralt’s.”

That made Alucard laugh.

“If he gets his way, definitely.” Alucard shook his head but it didn’t sound like he was against the idea.

Eskel had to laugh a little, too. Dracula was nothing if not persistent. The thought also brought a hot blush to his cheeks, as he thought back to Dracula’s care in the last few days.

“At some point I’ll get a chance to talk to him. This week has been...busy,” Eskel muttered.

“Don’t worry,” Alucard said with a wry smile. “He’ll find the most uncomfortable and embarrassing moment to track you down. I promise.”

“Ugggghh.” The worst part was that Alucard was right. Eskel rubbed his eyes and tried not to consider all the terrible possibilities. 

“So,” Alucard said with a wicked little smile curling his lips. “How do you want me?”

Eskel laughed.

“You channeling Geralt or Dracula now?”

“I can’t say. They are too much alike in this matter.”

Eskel wanted to laugh, or say something witty, but he was completely distracted again by the sight of Alucard’s bare chest. 

“Untie your hair?” he asked hoarsely. 

It looked tight and uncomfortable. Pretty, but probably unpleasant. Eskel knew just how much Alucard liked hands in his hair, too, and right now all Eskel wanted to do was put them both at ease. Get rid of all the dreaded tension that had built up between them.

Alucard looked apologetic.

“I still have a meeting later this evening and it takes a long time to get the braid done right.”

Eskel nodded, and silently vowed to ask Iga and Eyra about braiding styles. Knot work was standard knowledge for witchers; they needed to know how to tie up their trophies. Braids were different, though. Maybe if he learned how to help, Alucard could take more of a break at some point.

Hell, Geralt would probably be interested in knowing, too. They could make a day of it.

“Alright,” Eskel said. 

He looked Alucard up and down, trying to decide how to settle them together. Geralt was meditating on the bed and Eskel was loath to disturb him. A chair wouldn’t really have enough room. 

Couch would have to do.

Eskel grabbed one of the extra blankets off the bed. There was one already tossed over the back of the couch, but that was the one that Eskel and Iga had cuddled up in the night before. He knew that Alucard would be put off being wrapped in her scent. 

He wrapped the soft blanket around his shoulders, already feeling chilled. It was tempting to say that maybe the room was a little cool, but it was more likely just his bond with Alucard making life weird for him. Even though they weren’t feeling each other’s emotions any more, it would make sense if there was still some carryover. Alucard felt cold all the time, so Eskel would too, will he, nill he.

“Join me on the couch?” he asked, heading over to take a seat on said couch. He lifted up one blanket covered arm, offering Alucard room to cuddle close, and looked up hopefully.

Alucard followed, though he was a little more awkward in his movements than usual. It occured to Eskel that most of the time they touched intimately, Alucard was either high from feeding or just finished with sex.

It had to feel a little odd for him. Eskel could sympathize. He’d probably feel pretty off kilter, too, except that he was so focused on the contact about to happen that there wasn’t really room for embarrassment.

“Just cuddling,” Eskel reassured him softly.

That brought a small smile to Alucard’s lips, though there was still a faint pink blush on his cheeks. 

He slid down onto the couch, tucking himself into Eskel’s side.

Then there was the feel of his hands, his chest against Eskel’s naked skin. It completely froze Eskel’s brain. It was better than any sex he had, no matter how horny he got after a fight. This was a white-hot shot of sensation that literally blanked out everything else in his mind. He forgot where he was, he forgot who else was in the room. All he could be aware of was Alucard.

When he pulled enough brain cells together to regain some semblance of sanity, he realized he was mostly wrapped around Alucard. Like an octopus. They were leaning back against the plush back of the couch. Everywhere their skin touched was a glory, and he found himself running his hands back and forth over Alucard’s back. The blanket wrapped around them trapped in all of the body heat that they generated, making their embrace that much more wonderfully warm. It felt like they hadn’t touched each other in a thousand years.

“Fuck,” he whispered under his breath.

Alucard laughed. “Basically.”

For the life of him, Eskel couldn’t stop gently rubbing his hands all over every bit of skin available. Gods, but it felt so good. Warm and alive. As pleasant as a kiss but a hundred times more intimate.

“Please tell me that this feels as good for you as it does for me,” Eskel grumbled quietly. This would be far more embarrassing if it was a one sided reaction, he was sure.

“It feels amazing,” Alucard said, molasses-slow. He wasn’t slurring his words yet, but Eskel couldn’t help but think he was very close to it. Or maybe falling asleep.

Eskel nodded at him and then nuzzled into his jaw. Partly because he wanted to fill his nose with Alucard’s scent and partially just for the sensation of it.

If this was how they would react to each other from now on, Eskel was going to have a damn difficult time ever leaving for more than a few minutes. Not to mention the difficulty of getting anything done. Ever. Just thinking about getting up sounded utterly awful.

“How does it feel for you?” Eskel asked quietly, making sure to have as much skin contact as possible. There were still tiny fireworks going off at random in his brain at how good this felt.

“Tingly,” Alucard murmured. “Like getting high and putting your hand on a live wire.”

That was a perfectly apt description. “Same.”

While Eskel was enjoying the sensation of skin under his hands, Alucard just clung to him. That felt pretty amazing, too, and for more than just the radiating pleasure it caused. Alucard was holding him, holding _on_ to him, like they might drift apart at any moment. That little bit of claim made a slow, pleased happiness glow in Eskel’s chest and burn up through his skin.

“This’ll---” he took a deep breath in and squeezed Alucard closer. “This’ll settle down too, do you think?”

Alucard hummed for a bit.

“I’ll need to spend some energy.” He rubbed his cheek against Eskel. “I’m overcharging.”

“I don’t understand.” Eskel shook his head. “From feeding on Dracula? Shouldn’t that have already...passed?” 

“You are acting as a focus.” Alucard didn’t sound as if he was paying attention to what he was saying. “Like a familiar.” He let out a quiet rumble. “You pull the energy from around you and feed it to me. It feels like I’m preparing to cast, only there’s no spell to cast.” 

Eskel hummed absently. It was rather difficult to keep his mind on track, but something nagged at the back of his head that this was both useful and important. 

“Handy,” he said eventually, and dragged a hand up to cradle Alucard’s neck. His fingers itched to run through Alucard’s hair, but he kept himself in check by sheer will alone. No messing up the braid, he reminded himself. “Do you have something you need to cast? Or want to?”

“Most of my spells are battle related, one way or the other.”

Doing any kind of thinking was like shoving boulders up a hill. Luckily, Eskel was very stubborn. 

“Why is this still so…” He had to pause to squirm into the snuggle a bit more. It felt too good not to. Eskel let out a soft breath. “So intense. The bond is blocked, isn’t it?”

“My fault, probably,” Alucard murmured. “It feels like there’s a hollow inside me and it’s slowly filling up with energy. I need to find a new balance, a new…buoyancy level so to say.” He took a deep breath. “I think Father is right, I should have fed more. I’m instinctively using the bond to level up what I’m missing.”

This was probably a sensitive subject for Alucard. Or it would be normally. Right now, if he was feeling anything like Eskel was, Alucard was probably too hyped up on touching to care overmuch. 

“Geralt’s almost better,” Eskel whispered. “He’ll be well soon, and I know he’d be eager as hell for you to taste him.” A shiver raced up his spine and he licked his lips. “And my offer still stands. If you ever want to.”

Alucard shivered.

“I think we saw what happens when I don’t pay attention to what I’m doing,” Alucard sighed. “One thing at a time.”

Eskel hugged him tight. “Mistakes happen, Alucard. They do, with everyone learning anything ever. I’m a good choice to test on, because I am _very_ fucking hard to kill. And we have Dracula as a backup, a safeguard. I’m not saying we do anything now. I’m just saying don’t disregard the idea.”

“My Father is very…ungentle with you already. I won’t be following his example.” Alucard was already sounding less sleepy, his voice starting to sound focused. Eskel found he didn’t like it.

Still. 

“I don’t need to be coddled,” Eskel said.

“I think you do,” Alucard whispered. “I think you are overdue for some care and consideration.”

Eskel’s heart melted a little, and a smile tugged at his lips. He tilted his head to the side to try and get a better look at Alucard, his brow furrowed in mild confusion. “I’m not sure what that would even be like. I already feel spoiled.”

Alucard just hummed. “This feels good.”

That it did. Very, very good, in fact.

Eskel let out a happy rumble and trailed his hand up to cup the back of Alucard’s neck, holding him close. He basked in the heat generated between them. 

“I would definitely be interested in more of this,” he grumbled happily. 

Just to make sure that all that wonderful heat stayed sealed in, Eskel shifted a little in place and wrapped the blanket tighter around them. As he did so, he idly wondered if Alucard would miss this blanket later. It would be awfully nice to have something that smelled like Alucard, just to keep with him while he was off on the Path.

That thought was a little bit startling. He’d never wanted to carry someone else’s scent with him. Although when he thought about it, he found he wouldn’t mind something of Dracula’s too. But catching Dracula’s scent when he wasn’t in the room was as difficult as catching smoke. He created and dismissed his clothes as needed, and that which was created in the castle generally stayed there. His scent was everywhere in Geralt’s room at Kaer Morhen, but that was _Geralt’s_ room. 

“You’re thinking very hard,” Alucard said softly, breathing the words into Eskel’s jaw.

“How do you know?”

“I can feel it.”

“There are better things to feel.” Eskel pulled him even closer, relishing the feeling of the connection between them and shivering at all the skin contact. 

Alucard purred at him in agreement and reached up to run gentle fingers down the scars on his face. Each touch left a trail of tingling sparks under his skin. The sensation lingered long after Alucard’s fingers had moved away. It was strange. Unusual but pleasant. Normally that side of his face had less feeling in it. 

“Again please,” Eskel said quietly, tilting his head into Alucard’s hand.

Alucard shifted and pressed his lips to Eskel’s scars in a dry, soft kiss. A happy shiver raced up Eskel’s back in response. 

This was good. So much better than he hoped for.

Far too good to waste time thinking of anything else.

\--


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes from Quarra: Hey there folks. I'm hoping you all are doing well and holding up ok. Life is crazy right now for everyone, so just know that I'm thinking of all of you and wishing you well.
> 
> Also, there is some borderline doctor kink and knife play stuff in this chapter. Not enough that I wanted to, like, seriously tag the fic with it? But enough that I figured a little extra heads up might be useful for those who have interest/concerns about such things.

“When do you think Trevor will be finished with his work for the day?” Geralt asked Matt.

He’d been very patiently waiting for his chance for some quality time with Alucard. Hell, he would settle for _any_ time with Alucard. 

So far, events just hadn’t lined up for them. Yesterday after Dracula left, Alucard had been busy with work. Then Geralt had spent a long time in meditation. When he roused, Alucard and Eskel were wrapped up together on the couch, both barely awake and looking happier than Geralt had any right to hope for. He couldn’t bear to interrupt them. After that, Alucard had more work. 

Today again they seemed to just miss each other. Geralt had slept through Alucard being up in the morning; by the time he was up, Alucard was long gone. _Work_ again. Geralt was starting to feel like a soldier’s wife, always waiting for her man’s return.

To Geralt’s mild surprise, Eskel had wandered off for the afternoon, too. He said he was going to do some training, but Geralt suspected he was sneaking off to try and figure out how the new bond affected him. 

It was a little suspicious. 

Not the fact that Eskel was obviously experiencing some kind of change. It was suspicious because despite Geralt’s bond with Dracula, Geralt had very little in the way of strange manifestations of that. Just the Igni adventure, and while he would have to survive Lambert ribbing him until the end of time for having to stick his whole hand into a barrel of rainwater to put the Igni out, it wasn’t that bad. A bit of property damage later, and one scorched eyebrow and Geralt knew how to use his Igni in its new form. 

Granted, he couldn’t just blast away with it like he used to and never used it inside a city or a town if he didn't want to cause some serious devastation, but that wasn’t all that bad. 

Definitely no claws or fangs appeared. Not even a tail, though he checked for that periodically. He had the suspicion that Dracula would love to grip a tail during fucking, provided Geralt had one of course. Which he _didn’t_. 

He wouldn’t mind some shape shifting abilities, either. Geralt looked at his fingers, curling them into claw shape. 

He could have so much _fun_ with claws. So much.

“If you had asked me two weeks ago, I would have just laughed at you,” Matt said dryly, bringing him back to the moment. He leaned back in his chair and poked at his phone absently. “Before you showed up, work and sleep were the only activity options.”

Geralt held back a sigh. He knew how much Alucard worked, and how important that work was to him. It was the same with a witcher on the hunt. That didn’t make the current situation any less boring. 

The doctors had just given Geralt some crutches along with a very stern warning to not over do anything. The lengthy meditation yesterday had helped out too. But with that slight increase in mobility and decrease in pain came an incessant need to get up and _do_ something.

Which he knew was a bad idea. If Alucard were here, Geralt would at least be able to while the time away with sex. Perhaps some other touching-related activity. 

“Trevor needs to relax a little,” Geralt grumbled. 

Matt just shrugged noncommittally. “Could be worse. At least there are movies and books.”

True. There was a wonderful variety of those things. The food was great, too. So much like the fare the castle offered in terms of variety and quality, but so very different when it came to taste and content of dishes. The castle often served foods that Geralt might expect at a king’s table, a king of Geralt’s world. Alucard’s people had dishes and spices that Geralt had never seen or heard of before. Possibly because the castle survived mostly in isolation where Alucard’s people took inspiration from numerous living, thriving human cultures.

Geralt was used to being active most of the day, though. So despite the luxuries, he was just about going out of his mind with the forced rest.

Just as he was about to suggest turning on _Alucard the Vampire_ again, the real Alucard walked through the door. 

He wore a lighter grey suit today with blue shirt and accents. The customary round of jewelry that went with the suit was gold with blue gems that perfectly matched the shirt. Every line was straight and crisp and every hair in place, but to Geralt’s eyes Alucard looked a little tired.

“Welcome back,” Geralt said happily, incredibly pleased with this turn of events.

Alucard smiled warmly at him in return and headed over to the little table that held the supplies for his contacts. 

“Good evening, sir,” Matt said pleasantly. “Should I order some food to be sent up?”

“Only if Geralt wants anything,” Alucard said with a dismissive wave. Then he got to work taking the lenses out of his eyes.

Geralt could see the tiny frown on Matt’s face, barely there and gone. Likely due to the refusal of food. He wished he could tell Matt not to worry, and that Alucard wasn’t going to starve. On the other hand, he also worried that Alucard didn’t eat enough. Regardless, Geralt doubted that Matt would take well to him explaining Alucard needed blood to sustain himself and thus whether or not Alucard ate a sandwich for lunch was a moot point.

“I should be fine,” Geralt said. He and Matt had just finished eating. There were still a few scraps on one of the tables. Once Geralt had been able to stomach solid foods, his intake had picked up a fair amount. It was the healing that did it. That always took tons of energy. Matt had gotten into the habit of ordering incredible amounts of food to be delivered on a regular basis. 

As soon as the contacts were out, Alucard headed into the bathroom to shower and then change.

A plan began to form up in Geralt’s mind. His eyes lingered on the now closed bathroom door. 

First he’d have to get rid of Matt.

“Matt,” he said quietly. “Would you mind giving Trevor and I some quiet time? He looks pretty tired.” A brilliant idea floated through his head. “I’ll try to get him to eat some of the leftovers.” He nodded at the table of food. If anything, that would probably be a good temptation to make Matt leave. The man was very protective of Alucard, a trait that Geralt found both appropriate and endearing. “You could go find Eskel and work on some of that knife fighting. I think at this point he’s probably going crazy to have someone to spar with.”

All in all, Matt was very good at covering up his expression. But after having spent a week in such close contact, Geralt had a significantly better handle on reading him. Right now he looked both a touch relieved and just a tiny bit worried. 

The relief was probably because of the offer to try and feed Alucard. The worry though...maybe it was because of the sparring? 

“Don’t fret,” Geralt assured him. “Eskel knows you won’t want to get stitches while on duty. He’ll be careful.”

For some strange reason, Matt didn’t seem reassured at all. 

“I’ll check up on him. Let me know if you need anything.” Matt nodded at him and took himself out.

_Excellent_. 

Knowing Alucard, he was probably going to spend a good long time in the shower. He had told Geralt one evening how perfume and human scents bothered him, and the way they permeated his hair and clothes after a few hours of meetings. He always showered after he’d had meetings with people other than John or Matt. Geralt wasn’t surprised, not one bit. This was the same man who was off the bed and cleaning up after sex as soon as his legs could hold him. 

Nothing like the thought of that beautiful body dripping with hot water to inspire Geralt to action. If he were feeling completely himself, he’d just walk in and join Alucard under the water. But there were the splints and bandages to consider. 

He had been given leave to shower. He just had to be very careful and change his splints and bandages afterwards. That absolutely cut into the mood he was trying to get here, though. Nothing said ‘sexy’ like asking a lover to wait up for fifty minutes while he unwrapped all the hardware from his body.

So rather than attempt that, Geralt thought he could just head in and enjoy the view. Maybe make some commentary. See if Alucard might be up for putting on a little show. At the very least it would be nice to spend some alone time in the same room with him. 

Geralt grabbed his new crutches and took a breath. The shower was just across the room, through a door, and then across a much smaller room. Geralt could do this. He’d be fine. 

He probably wouldn’t destroy the room on his way.

He hoped.

After one last fortifying breath, he shifted off the bed, delicately balancing on his crutches. It wasn’t like he’d never used them before. It was just that normally he wasn’t quite so broken while attempting it. Injuries happened as a witcher, but for fuck’s sake this particular round was taking a damn long time to heal.

Geralt worked his jaw back and forth for a moment in determination, and then slowly made his way across the bedroom. 

By the time he got to the bathroom door, the shower had been on for a few minutes and Geralt was panting with effort. This was much, much harder without someone around to help steady him. 

His goal was within reach, though. So close. 

It took some fiddling to get the door open and stay balanced, but he managed. As soon as he walked in, the hot, warm steam from the shower hit him like a wave. Alucard looked up from his soaping when the door opened, but seeing that it was just Geralt hobbling in, he went back to his washing.

Ah, now there was a sight for sore eyes. Those lovely strong hands covered in slippery bubbles, touching, _rubbing_ all over, up and down that pale skin. Under the herbal aroma of the soap, Geralt could smell Alucard’s unique scent filling the room.

Geralt made sure the door was closed behind him. Mostly to keep the warm air in, but also just on the off chance that Eskel returned from training early. Then he made his way over to the shower.

The vast majority of his focus was on the way Alucard was soaping himself up in the large shower stall. He loved how those long, white curls of hair slicked down when wet, making Alucard look softer and younger. More vulnerable, almost. Geralt could feel his heart thumping in his chest. 

So pretty. 

So distracting.

So very distracting that Geralt didn’t even notice when one of his crutches caught on the rug.

Before he knew what was going on, the foot of the crutch snagged and failed to move forward when Geralt moved forward, sending him careening towards the floor, face first. 

Reflexes and a lifetime of practice had him landing in the least painful way possible; the brunt of the fall was absorbed by his unbroken arm and leg. 

It still _hurt_. Enough that he let out an undignified grunt upon landing, louder than the ruckus he made when he and his collection of splints hit the floor. 

His limbs and crutches went sprawling as a low throbbing pain spiderwebbed out from every injury. He didn’t land directly on the incision in his chest, but he had to tighten all of his core muscles to avoid taking more damage; the effort was profoundly unpleasant. 

For a moment he just laid there, soaking in the humiliation of such a graceless move. 

_Smooth, Geralt. Real fucking smooth_. 

He was a witcher. A warrior that had vanquished countless enemies, defeated monsters and humans alike. Hell, he’d even fought a dragon and won. And here he was, defeated by a bathroom floor. Laid flat by a piece of dark blue cloth.

And there wasn’t even any booze involved. What a load of bullshit.

“Geralt, are you alright?!” Alucard’s wet hand was on his shoulder, gently easing him up.

“Uggggh,” Geralt grumbled. “I think I broke my pride. No splint can save it. Time for triage.” 

He slowly, achingly shifted around so he was laying on his back. It was a very good sign that the intense pain was dropping off rather quickly. It meant that nothing had rebroken or ripped open in the fall. Always a good thing. The lack of fresh blood scent was a big clue, too.

Alucard huffed in amusement, but the sound was short lived. He knelt next to Geralt, still dripping and soapy, with his wet hair stuck to his skin. His body was so hot from the shower that a little bit of steam wafted off of him, and there was an uncharacteristic rosy tint to his skin. It was impossible not to stop and admire the view. His face was drawn tight with worry and he kept his hand on Geralt’s shoulder.

“Did you hurt anything?” Alucard asked quietly. He looked up and down Geralt’s body, clearly searching for signs of disaster.

“Mortally wounded my self respect,” Geralt said seriously. “Can’t you see its death throes?”

“Hmmm. I should probably check to be sure.” Alucard sounded just as serious, but there was a mischievous twinkle in his eye that Geralt liked the look of. 

“Yeah, I think you should,” he responded, voice a little rough. 

Alucard ran his hands lightly down Geralt’s chest, over his loose fitting shirt, and down his thighs. That first pass really did look and feel like Alucard was checking the various bandages. Geralt enjoyed the touch nonetheless. He wiggled all his fingers and toes, showing off that he had mobility, and Alucard’s lips tugged into a smile.

On his way up, Alucard’s hands stopped being quite so clinical. His fingers slid under the edge of Geralt’s shirt and explored his belly, flattening there. Geralt could feel the warmth of his palms as he breathed, the push of them against his skin when his belly rose. At least the scarce patches that weren’t bandaged to hell and back.

“You are right,” Alucard murmured leaning in closer. “The injuries are truly extensive.”

“Yeah?”

“Hmm.” Alucard braced one hand on the floor beside Geralt’s head. “I need to investigate more thoroughly.” He leaned in and looked Geralt in the eye. “A very hands on approach is required.”

Geralt nodded seriously, attempting to look as solemn as possible. He wasn’t hurting that much. He was fine. 

“That sounds wise. I’d hate for a potential injury to be overlooked.” He took a deep breath and then instantly regretted it as his half healed ribs creaked painfully. Between his natural pain suppression and the extra painkillers that the doctors had given him, Geralt was mostly comfortable. Until he tried to move. Or until he fell face first onto the bathroom floor. “I think I’ll have to let you take point on this exploration,” he added ruefully. 

Geralt couldn’t quite forget that Alucard was naked, gloriously, amazingly naked beside him. He managed to get his hand on Alucard’s thigh. The best he could do was give a gentle caress. 

He wished he had more freedom of movement. The position, the angle, was a little awkward. Geralt couldn’t really get a good look, but he knew if he could just move a few more inches, he could touch Alucard’s most intimate places. He imagined Alucard’s cock, all soft and warm from the shower. It would no doubt fit into his hand very nicely.

Alucard laughed and moved closer, crossing that last bit of space between. He leaned down and kissed Geralt slow and sweet. His lips traced Geralt’s, mapping the shape of his mouth. There was no hurry at all in his movement. Geralt caught Alucard’s lower lip between his teeth and sucked hard, inviting him in deeper. Not that it did him much good. Alucard teased him, dipping his tongue inside, only to pull back when Geralt tried to urge him on.

“I haven’t finished my investigation yet,” Alucard said between tauting, shallow kisses. “There are still areas I need to check.”

“Oh my,” Geralt said, low and amused. “By all means, you should continue. I think...” He ran his hand along as much of Alucard’s thigh as he could, up and down, savoring that soft, wet skin. Fuck, but he wanted to lick it. “I think I might need to hold on to you. For support.”

Alucard’s hand slid to Geralt’s hip, curving sweetly over the bone before sliding carefully down his thigh and following the shape of the muscle there. He stroked all the way down to the kneecap and back up again, on the inside this time. His curious fingers investigated the curve of where Geralt’s leg met his pelvis.

“You seem to have most of your movement, but there’s one appendage we haven’t tested.”

It was reflex for Geralt to lick his lips as a coil of tight heat twisted up low inside of him.

“Yeah?”

“I’m very worried about its capability for mobility,” Alucard sounded serious. “We need to test its response capability.”

Alucard’s hand moved to the front of Geralt’s pants and covered his groin. He didn’t move. He just let his warm palm rest right over Geralt’s cock. That only made Geralt all the more aware of it.

“I think you’re right,” Geralt said. The words came out breathy and rough. Already his cock was twitching and filling in anticipation. “You should give it a thorough examination. Though it may be difficult with all these clothes.”

“First,” Alucard breathed over Geralt’s lips, “we need to test its flexibility. A healthy limb of this type should be able to move and change sizes easily.” Alucard still sounded utterly serious as he wormed his hand under the waistband of Geralt’s pants. 

Geralt sucked in his belly, half in reaction and half to make sure Alucard had enough space to do what he wanted. He couldn’t help letting out a tiny moan as he felt that warm, strong hand slide over his dick. Simple as the touch was, it still felt amazing.

“Tell me,” Alucard murmured, closing his fingers as best as he could around Geralt and stroking him exquisitely slowly. “Does this feel like it might spark the reaction we are looking for?”

Geralt’s eyes went heavy and his breath caught in his throat. He nodded, short and quick. 

“Yeah,” he breathed out, then swallowed hard. “Yeah I think it will. You might have to take your time, though. Really make sure that it feels right.”

“Time?” Alucard dragged the palm of his hand over Geralt’s skin. It was just barely wet, but not enough to actually reduce the friction at all. The feel of Alucard’s sword calluses was rough and perfect. “Maybe we need more stimulation?”

As if Geralt wasn’t getting hard enough under Alucard’s hand alone, that suggestion made his cock jump and twitch to attention. It was extremely difficult not to squirm on the floor; that kind of movement would only set his injuries to aching something fierce. So Geralt was good and stayed mostly still. _Mostly_.

“More stimulation could be critical to a good evaluation.” Geralt nodded seriously. Or as serious as he could get. “It’s important to vary the circumstances, too.”

Gods, but he wanted more of Alucard; his hands, his mouth, his heat. Anything would be good. Geralt promised himself that the moment he was feeling better he would take his time fucking Alucard into a wall. At length.

“You are right.” Alucard nodded, looking very stern. “But first. We need some visual assessment.”

“An important step,” Geralt agreed. 

Alucard sat back, taking his thigh out of Geralt’s reach and making Geralt moan in distress. He then focused on unfastening Geralt’s pants and opening them up wide enough to let his cock free. Already it was hard and flushed dark pink, ready and aching for attention.

“Hmm,” Alucard murmured thoughtfully as he took hold of it and positioned it standing straight up. “Is this the usual size?” he asked, holding it still and letting his thumb massage the glans. “I’m not entirely sure.”

Geralt’s eyes fluttered a bit at the sensation. And the _view_. Fuck, but that was pretty; Alucard’s firm grip wrapped around his needy cock, gently working it over. “Sometimes it gets a little larger,” he let out a short groan, “if you rub it enough. There’s no way to know without trying, though. We should test the theory.”

“You are right.” Alucard nodded again. The tiny tendrils of his hair that were stuck to his forehead were already drying, curling up in all the moisture filling the air. The shower was still running, Geralt realized. He could hear the sound of it, water under pressure splashing against the tile. “Maybe some variation to the stimulation will help with the process.”

Alucard leaned down and sucked Geralt’s cock head into his mouth, hot and wet and perfect. His tongue pressed firmly against the crown. A jolt of heat and pleasure shot through Geralt’s body and he twitched in place.

“Fuck,” he rasped, trying to still his body and not give into the instinct to thrust up. “It’s working,” he said tightly. “Gods, it’s definitely working.” If he sounded somewhat strangled, who could blame him? 

Alucard wasn’t teasing this time. He sucked hard, quickly bobbing his head and doing his best to stroke what he wasn’t fitting in his mouth. It felt amazing. Pleasure rushed through Geralt’s body; it crept up his spine and bloomed behind his eyelids.

Every time Alucard pushed his head down he sucked in, causing Geralt to want to cry from how good it felt. The head of Geralt’s cock nudged right up against the back of Alucard’s throat. That little space was so tight and firm, squeezing his cock head just a little before Alucard bobbed away. 

Fuck, but that wonderful, narrow, wet hole made Geralt ache and twitch. The soft, sloppy sounds were doing him no favors either. Tiny hums and slurping noises that were just barely loud enough for Geralt to hear as Alucard worked him over. What was even more of a turn on was how they made Alucard sound. Like he was delighted, pleased and hungry. Like Geralt’s cock was the best thing he’d ever had in his mouth.

“Yes,” Geralt breathed out quietly. He reached down to rest a hand on Alucard’s head, just enjoying the feel of that beautiful wet hair under his palm.

He found he couldn’t resist temptation. He couldn’t stop himself from tightening his hold on Alucard’s hair and holding him still. Not that Geralt had the strength to actually enforce that move. But Alucard went with his grip and froze. He looked up to Geralt then, mouth still stretched obscenely over his hard cock.

“I think we might need to get it completely wet,” Geralt said with a little bit of a smirk. Then he pushed Alucard’s head down, all the way to the root, forcing Geralt’s cock deep into his throat. It was such a snug fit, so hot and good, that Geralt all but throbbed with it. 

Then he pulled Alucard completely off of his dick, enjoying the way spit and precome trailed away from those pretty, pink lips. Even better was how dark Alucard’s eyes were, how flushed his cheeks were, and how absolutely enthralled he looked.

“Do you think it’s at its largest size?” Geralt asked. He held Alucard’s head close enough that the cool tickle of breath still ghosted over the sensitive skin of his cock. 

“It’s hard to say,” Alucard said hoarsely, stretching his tongue to lick at what he could reach. He didn’t try to get away from Geralt’s grip.

Oh, that was very nice. Watching Alucard strain and lick all while holding so still in Geralt’s hand. 

“Fuck, you’re so pretty,” Geralt breathed out. His eyes trailed over the stunning shape of Alucard’s face. He swallowed and tried to gather up his scrambled wits. “Hard to tell if it’s at its largest, huh? Perhaps you need a closer look.”

Using his grip on Alucard’s hair, he rubbed Alucard’s face along his cock, spreading little trails of wetness all over his cheeks. To his delight, Alucard allowed himself to be moved. More than that, he did his best to arch a little into the movement, like a cat being petted. 

Geralt rested his dick right on Alucard’s lips. Then he waited a moment. Just to lay there and enjoy how beautiful Alucard looked there on his knees, cock rested against his wet, open mouth. 

“Well?” Geralt asked. Already a little bit of precome was starting to pearl up at the tip of his cock, just barely dripping down onto Alucard’s waiting lips. “Do you think we’ve gotten an accurate measurement?”

Alucard frowned and looked at the cock two inches from his face.

“No,” he deemed after a few heartbeats. “I think a little more effort is required.”

Geralt had to both grin and groan. _Such a tease_. 

He released his grip on Alucard’s hair, signaling that he was done controlling their movement for the moment. He probably would have moved his hand away, too, but there was a slight tremble in it. Enough that he had to rest his hand on Alucard’s head for comfort.

“Let’s get you into the shower,” Alucard extended his hands towards Geralt.

“What about my clothes?” Geralt asked, looking down at his open pants and the rucked up shirt. Thankfully, he was barefoot.

“How about I cut them off of you?” Alucard asked reasonably, his hands still extended towards Geralt.

“Yes.” Geralt’s throat clicked when he swallowed, gone dry from just the thought of it. “Dracula’s blade is at my side. Use that.”

“Hmm.” Alucard lowered his eyelids. “You should tell him, later, that we used his dagger to strip you,” he said in a low, lazy tone.

A shiver raced up Geralt’s spine. That would no doubt cause a very positive reaction. Hopefully one that would last all night. “Gods, but you do have brilliant plans.”

Alucard inclined his head gently. “Sometimes.”

It took a bit of an effort to get Geralt onto his feet. The fact Alucard could take his whole weight as easily as Eskel could helped immensely. He got Geralt up and into the stall without much trouble. He even let Geralt pretend most of that was done under his own power.

The water was piping hot and felt amazing, even if it meant that his clothes were soaked in seconds. Clearly, Alucard didn’t think getting in undressed before getting him wet was worth it. Geralt couldn’t find it in himself to care. He breathed in the steam and heat, feeling himself relax. 

Damn, but he would miss hot showers when he got back home.

Rather than pull the dagger himself, Geralt took hold of Alucard’s hand and guided it under his shirt, up to where the blade was hidden under the bandages. Normally, Geralt might put the blade at his back or along one of his legs, but he couldn’t move well enough to quickly get to it in those spots. The heavy bandaging around his torso made for the perfect hiding spot, too. So at his side was the next best option. 

Alucard’s hand caressed him, slowly slipping up under the gauze to grab hold of the dagger. It had been pressed up against Geralt’s body nearly nonstop for days, so the blade was blood-warm. Something about that felt right. It tingled and twisted against Geralt’s senses in a way he couldn’t quite define. Even still, the feel of the smooth flat of the blade sliding down his skin made him shiver with excitement. 

Yes, this was definitely a good plan. 

His shirt was stuck to his body with water, and Alucard had to pull it away from his skin before he could put the blade to it. Geralt watched avidly as the dark red tip punched through the thin cotton and sliced the fabric all the way up to his collarbone as easily as if it was cutting butter.

Alucard stripped the pieces of shirt off and slid his hands over the bandages on Geralt’s chest. His fingers pushed gently under them, just enough to fit the tip of the blade under the cloth. It gave as easily as the shirt did, parting like water. It felt odd to have his skin naked for the first time in a long time. Geralt couldn't help but look at the new scars on his always-pale skin. They were still a little gruesome, for all that they were extremely neat and clean.

He’d been healing for days and, gods, but he was still a mess. There was still some bruising and swelling though it was fairly localized. 

Well. Relatively. Geralt knew very well that he’d been nothing but one solid bruise for quite a while.

The places where his ribs and collarbone had broken were still visibly raised up, and the incision down his front still had a few staples and several stitches in it. Most of the smaller cuts and wounds had long since sealed closed, but that didn’t really make them _pretty_. 

“Not much to look at, am I?” Geralt said softly. A little bit of a smile tugged at his lips as he tried to turn the commentary into a joke, but it fell flat.

A few more slices and Alucard was throwing the sad remnants of his shirt and bandages away. He leaned in to press his lips against the long scar running between Geralt’s collarbones and down to his belly, where the doctors had cut him open like a fish ready to be filleted. 

The splints on Geralt’s arm and foot were ignored, though Geralt knew that there were extra dry ones waiting for him to change into once the shower was done. A normal human might have had permanent casts, but Geralt healed too quickly and the doctors had wanted to keep an eye on some of the open wounds near the bone breaks. So he had casts that could open and close, and extra in case they needed to be changed out. 

It seemed likely that Alucard didn’t want to risk taking them off, even for the short amount of time while they were in the shower. Given that Geralt had just fallen flat on his face, he couldn’t even feel annoyed about that.

“I think you are very hot.” Alucard let his hand wander down Geralt’s belly, down to his groin where his cock was starting to flag. He wrapped his hand around Geralt and stroked him firmly, dragging his palm from root to tip and back. “And definitely something to look at.”

Heat flooded Geralt’s face and he groaned into the touch. 

Alucard grinned. “And besides, we match.” He indicated his own chest with the old scar bisecting it from shoulder to hip.

A grin burst across Geralt’s face, too. “Very true.” He let one hand trail down Alucard’s chest, following the familiar line of that old scar. “You are gorgeous,” he said, very appreciatively. “Ah, the things I want to do to you, pretty wolf.”

“You shouldn’t strain yourself,” Alucard said seriously, letting go of Geralt’s cock and sinking to his knees to settle in between Geralt’s feet, beautiful and unselfconscious. Without pause, he leaned in and took the head of Geralt’s cock into his mouth. He sucked hard, just for a few moments, before pulling back and giving the hard flesh a little conciliatory lick.

Geralt was barely able to catch his breath before there was a light touch at his hip. Then Alucard was cutting his soft sleep pants away, just as easily as he did the thin shirt.

There was something about standing there, trying desperately to remain upright as Alucard cut away all of his clothes with precise, controlled little flicks of his wrist, that made Geralt feel more vulnerable than he ever had before.

“Fuck,” he murmured, pressing his palms against the warmed tile behind him. “Fuck yes.”

“Later,” Alucard said. “Once I get you all nice and clean, we can go to the couch where you can lay down and I can ride you all nice and slow.” 

Alucard’s hand wrapped around Geralt’s ankle; the fingers circled the bone completely. He leaned his forehead against Geralt’s hip and his hair tickled Geralt’s naked skin. Hot water poured over them in a maelstrom of droplets.

Just thinking about it made Geralt’s dick twitch with anticipation. Oh how he’d missed Alucard’s sweet, little hole. The tight clench of it and the heavenly sounds that came out of Alucard’s mouth when they fucked. 

He rested his hand on Alucard’s head and petted him softly. 

“What did I ever do to deserve such a wonderful lover?” he asked quietly. “You treat me so well. So good to me.”

Alucard pressed a series of tiny kisses to the fresh scar on the outside of Geralt’s thigh.

“You make me happy.” 

Those words made Geralt’s heart clench up as tight as a vice. Pleasure and delight and a dozen other forms of joy filled him up. Such simple words, but he couldn’t remember Yen or Triss ever saying them to him. They loved each other, but Geralt never made them simply _happy_. It took him a moment to get his bearings around it. If he were able-bodied, he would have pressed Alucard into the floor and kissed him until his breath gave out. 

“Good,” Geralt said softly. “I want you happy.”

Alucard laughed, shifting to rub his cheek over Geralt’s cock. “This part of you helps.”

The soft smile on Geralt’s face turned into a filthy leer. “It is one of my best features. And I do enjoy using it. With enthusiasm.”

Alucard shifted, pressing his lips to Geralt’s cock and then mouthing gently over the head. He wasn't even blowing Geralt. It was as if he was content to just kneel there and taste him, learn Geralt’s shape with his lips, focusing solely on Geralt’s cockhead. 

Geralt hissed and flattened one hand to the wall behind him. He had to make sure his legs were braced with most of his weight on his unsplinted foot. The attention that Alucard was paying him felt so good, so damn good, that Geralt was in serious risk of sliding right down to the floor.

Alucard’s eyes were closed. He kept mouthing and kissing at the head of Geralt’s cock. Over and around, always coming back to the tip to lick the leaking precome away before going back to caressing the glans with his soft lips. One hand was curled over Geralt’s good ankle, running up his calf and squeezing his knee. Up and down, he ran his hands over Geralt’s legs. The caresses were almost absently done. His expression was so soft and happy as he caressed Geralt’s cock.

“Alucard,” Geralt said hoarsely. He put his free hand on Alucard’s head and dragged his fingers down to cup the back of his skull. 

Gods, his cock was so hard. Heat and desire pulsed inside him, filling his balls, making them heavy and tight.

“Father tried to teach me this,” Alucard said against Geralt’s skin. His hot breath fanned over Geralt’s dick, sending another wave of little shivers up Geralt’s back. “How to just enjoy the touch.” He shifted again, pressing his lips to Geralt’s hip and licking a zig zagging line to Geralt’s belly button. “But it took you to show me what he meant.” 

He licked over Geralt’s stomach and then did his best to catch the edge of Geralt’s belly button with his teeth. Everything was so damn slippery, and Alucard couldn’t quite get a good bite. He didn’t seem bothered by it; he merely continued his attempts.

If Geralt felt good before then Alucard’s words lit a fire inside of him like nothing else. Even as injured as Geralt was, Alucard still enjoyed touching him. Not just for the sake of sex or for Geralt’s pleasure, but for the sheer joy in act of touching in and of itself. Alucard was so aloof normally. So isolated. Seeing him revel in touch made Geralt’s chest go tight with happiness. The effect was doubled knowing that Geralt was the cause of it.

“Gods, but you are a wonder,” Geralt whispered. “I’d give you whatever you wanted, you know that right?”

Alucard’s hands slip up Geralt’s thighs, grabbing firm hold of his ass to keep them both steady as he continued to lick around 

“Come in my mouth?” Alucard asked, looking up at Geralt. His wet hair was plastered to his skin in blue-white tendrils.

A full body shudder broke out over Geralt and he groaned quietly. 

“Yes.” Geralt had to clear his throat just to make sure that he was speaking right. “Yes, pretty wolf. I want that. Want to see your pretty lips around me, your hands on me. Lick me, suck me like it’s your favorite thing in the whole world. My cock in your mouth, down your throat. I love how you look up at me. It’s even better when you’re feeling so good you can’t even do that.”

He could see how hard Alucard was; his cock hung swollen and neglected between his legs. That was a turn on, too, the fact that Alucard was getting off on pleasing Geralt. 

Despite how much Geralt was enjoying Alucard’s attentions, he could feel himself tremble just a little. Standing for long periods of time was still difficult. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything, though. Having Alucard down on his knees like this was too sweet to give up and saying something might bring their fun to an end.

Alucard pulled back from him and reached up to what Geralt _thought_ was a decorative panel set about waist high in the main wall. He pressed a tile in the middle and it depressed like a button. 

A panel along the far wall opened and a gleaming steel platform slid out, locking position with the tiniest of clicks. It was the perfect height for sitting on. Geralt arched his eyebrows up in surprise.

Geralt stared at the bench for a moment, admiring the sheer usefulness of it, and then looked to Alucard. He was immediately distracted by how pink Alucard’s lips were and how they were already a little swollen from their activities.

“What else do you have in these walls?” he had to ask, suddenly intensely curious. Were there other hidden panels? Could there be hidden weapons inside?

Alucard blinked at him slowly, so clearly having trouble changing tracks Geralt almost regretted asking.

“I’m not entirely sure.” Alucard answered eventually. “John went a little overboard when designing the room.”

Geralt ran his hand down Alucard’s jaw and brushed a thumb over those beautiful lips. He couldn’t help it. They begged to be touched. 

“Sit down?” Alucard asked, and then slid his tongue right over the finger Geralt was pressing to his lips.

That was a great idea. Geralt nodded. He paused a moment, considering the wet tile. The last thing he wanted to do was faceplant again. He could use a hand to sit down easily, but he didn’t want to further break the mood. 

“Kneel up and put your arm around my waist,” he said finally. 

Alucard straightened up immediately and slid his arm around Geralt’s waist. Immediately, he leaned in to suck on the skin just below Geralt’s ribs.

Geralt kept one hand on the wall for stability, and the other he gently rested on Alucard’s head. Alucard’s arm around him urged him forward, and together they slowly moved towards the bench. It was a little awkward with Geralt’s injuries and Alucard moving forward on his knees, but they made it across the shower with no issues.

The moment he sat down, Geralt shifted his hand to slide it lower, behind Alucard’s head, and grabbed a fist full of his hair. He got what he aimed for; a short, sharply indrawn breath and a spike in the scent of Alucard’s arousal. There were few things that Alucard loved more than someone grabbing ahold of his hair, and even more so if it was a little rough. 

Geralt tugged back and Alucard went easily, his eyes half lidded and lips parted as he let Geralt control his position. Alucard’s chest was flushed pink, either with the heat of the shower or with desire. Maybe both. His whole torso moved with how heavy he was breathing. Alucard’s cock was twitching, and precome spilled freely from the tip. There was so much that Geralt could taste it on his tongue, even with the water of the shower washing away most of the scents in the room.

“You are so hot,” Geralt murmured, easing down on his grip. 

He wished he had the mobility to touch more. He did manage to get a hand around his lover’s neck, feeling the madly beating pulse there, and he had just enough additional reach to slide his hand down far enough to finger one of Alucard’s pebbled nipples. Good thing Alucard was so tall. That helped. 

Geralt took hold of that sweet little bud and _pulled_, making Alucard gasp.

Then he reached up to tug on Alucard’s hair again, forcing Alucard to straighten up, making him arch so that his chest was in easier reach. 

The hold on Alucard’s hair was loose at best, but it was enough to nudge Alucard into the right position. Geralt had to use his injured arm to play further. He pulled at Alucard’s nipple again as hard as he could muster. Enough for Alucard to feel it, yes, but sadly not more than that. Then Geralt rubbed gently around it to ease the sting and switched focus to the other one, pinching it firmly and pulling. 

Alucard’s breath came out in broken little gasps. His mouth was open and wet and Geralt couldn’t remember seeing anything more beautiful. He kept the grip on Alucard’s hair as tight as he could, kept him arched up as he pinched and teased his nipples. Geralt teased them until they became dark pink and puffy and Alucard was making tiny keening sounds in his throat. Alucard’s cock was so hard and red, twitching over and over between his thighs, abandoned and needy without any stimulation.

Alucard’s hands closed tightly on Geralt’s knees, holding on for dear life as he let Geralt do as he pleased. The scent of his desire was so thick in the air that it made Geralt dizzy.

“Look at you,” Geralt said, his voice barely a low, pleased grumble. “Look at how beautiful and needy you are.” He pulled at one of those perky little nipples, twisting it harshly just to see Alucard gasp and cry out. “Better than any music, more lovely than any painting.” 

He gentled his touch and settled just to rubbing his thumb back and forth over the red, sensitive little bud. Alucard’s eyes were glassy and he was panting, his head lolling against Geralt’s grip in his hair.

When Geralt let go of his hair, Alucard sank down, his head going to rest on Geralt’s thigh. He pressed a series of tiny kisses to Geralt’s leg while his hand went straight for Geralt’s cock. He didn’t tease. He just kissed right up to Geralt’s groin, mouthing softly over the place where his thigh met his pelvis, and then to the root of Geralt’s cock. 

Alucard’s cheek was soft against Geralt’s hard length as he nuzzled into the skin there, kissing and sucking right along the base. He kept up the line of kisses all along the shaft until he was sucking wetly right at the tip.

Opening his mouth wide, Alucard sucked in Geralt’s cockhead. He nursed at it, tongue licking around the sensitive glans and sucking at it like a piece of candy. It was so wet, so very wet, as if Alucard was trying to make it the sloppiest blow job he possibly could. The hot suction contrasted with the softness of the licking, sending pleasure like a spike straight through Geralt’s body. He jerked forward with his hips, almost reaching out to grab ahold of Alucard’s hair again. 

He decided against it at the last second and forced his hands back to the bench. No matter how much he wanted to force Alucard’s head down on his cock, Geralt knew that he wouldn’t have the strength or energy to keep up that kind of activity long. It was difficult enough to keep his hips from moving in ways that the rest of him would regret.

Besides, right now he wanted to see how much Alucard was willing to do.

That wonderful suction continued as Alucard worshiped the end of his cock. Alucard pulled back for a second, just long enough to suck all the spit and precome off of the glans. Then he gave a long wet lick of the tip and sucked the head back into his straining, hot mouth. 

This time he took it deeper and started to bob up and down. His tongue worked under the bottom of Geralt’s cock, licking up and curling around the shaft as he sucked. The sheer variety of movement was utterly melting Geralt’s mind, as if Alucard were trying every way he could think of to taste and feel the cock filling him up. 

The strokes alternated. Some were tight, so very tight, as Alucard pressed his lips in firmly, giving Geralt a firm, sweet little hole to fuck into and guiding his cock straight into the furnace-hot clench of Alucard’s throat. Some were loose. So loose that Geralt’s cock rubbed all over inside his mouth. Across his tongue, into his cheeks, making him bulge with the outline of dick. It was obscene and unbelievably hot, the way he just gave himself over to the act. His eyes fluttered, sightless with lust, and he let out the softest, most wanton noises. Each little sound was shamelessly hungry, pitifully needy. 

Geralt struggled to stay in place, his body burning with want. His balls were tight up against him and tension coiled up along with a raging heat. A thousand filthy words rested right on the tip of his tongue but Geralt didn’t have the sense to say them. All he could do was pant and groan under Alucard’s worship. His exhalations got higher and higher as he came closer to release.

Right as the pleasure and pressure reached its peak, he put a hand on Alucard’s jaw. He couldn’t stop himself. Then he was coming in that wonderful mouth as pleasure wracked his body. Alucard just held his mouth open, letting that pulsing cockhead rest right inside his mouth, filling him up with come. He pried one hand off of Geralt’s knee to stroke Geralt through his orgasm, slick and tight, dragging out the pleasure and forcing every last drop of come out. 

The sight of it only made Geralt cry out again, moaning at seeing Alucard that way. Open and waiting. His mouth filled up to the point where it was dripping over those pink, swollen lips and down his chin. Geralt burned the image into his mind even as his cock visibly pulsed as he came. 

Geralt kept still, panting with pleasure and sensitivity as Alucard worked him through his orgasm. Then he tightened his grip on Alucard’s hair, forcing him to stay still as well. He wanted a moment longer to enjoy the view and, more importantly, he wanted Alucard to have a moment to really feel where he was. To feel himself on his knees, hot and hard, his body screaming with want and his face and mouth drenched in come. To sit there with that still throbbing cock resting gently in his mouth and wait for Geralt to allow him to move.

Geralt could see the sensation of it hit him. There was a noticeable darkening of the blush on his cheeks and he squirmed, just a little. A soft, nearly unheard whine escaped him. 

Perfect.

Beautiful and perfect. 

Geralt used his grip on Alucard’s hair to pull him up. Then he kissed Alucard, hard and wet, licking deep and tasting himself. He slid his hand down Alucard’s stomach, aiming for his cock, wanting to feel it in his hands, wanting to watch Alucard come.

But Alucard squirmed away, pulling away from the kiss and pulling his hips back.

“On your cock,” Alucard rasped against Geralt’s lips, still twisting away from Geralt’s hand. “I want to come on your cock.”

“Fuck.” Geralt groaned in appreciation. He had to close his eyes for a moment, already shivering again with anticipation. “Alright, pretty wolf. After the shower then.”

“There is lube,” Alucard said roughly, his words just slightly slurred. He had to pause and take a breath. “In the little cabinets beside the couch.”

“You want me to finger you open? Let you ride my hand, force yourself down on my fingers before you ride my cock?” Geralt traced the line of Alucard’s jaw. 

Alucard shook his head. Wet tendrils of his hair flicked with the movement.

“Just your cock,” Alucard breathed. “Slick and hard.” His hands were both back on Geralt’s knees, closing and opening like he was kneading the flesh. “Pushing me open as I sink down on you.” He licked his lips. “I want to really feel you,” he said in a quiet rasp. “All the way.”

Oh, and wouldn’t that be lovely. Geralt could almost see how wrecked that would make Alucard. Despite the fact that he knew Alucard and Dracula had had sex at least once in the past week, he knew that Alucard might be a little tighter than usual. Getting stretched open on Geralt’s cock like that would probably burn in the most delicious way.

“Yeah.” Geralt nodded and licked his lips. “Yeah, I want to see that. I want to hear the sound you make as you split yourself open on me. Bet it would be so pretty.”

Alucard’s hands were shaking, just a tiny bit, as he sat up to reach the soap dispenser. The scent of herbs and flowers filled the small space as he lathered a soft-looking washing cloth.

“Alucard.” Geralt felt his chest fill with emotion at the gentle effort Alucard was showing him, the way he so clearly wanted to take care of him. He put his hand against the side of Alucard’s face, feeling lost for words. Geralt felt _so much_ and he had no idea how to express all of it at once.

Alucard turned his head, pressing a kiss against Geralt’s palm. The action felt more intimate than the blowjob had.

“Let me do this for you,” he murmured, lips against Geralt’s skin. “I want to wash you like this. On my knees. Wanting. Waiting for you to be ready to spread me open on your cock.”

The thought of it, of Alucard _serving_ him like this, was enough to make his softened cock twitch.

Alucard did as promised. He ran the soapy washcloth over Geralt’s legs and washed Geralt’s cock with as much dedication as he worshipped it earlier. He was infinitely gentle when he ran the washcloth over the barely healed incisions. The soap stung a little, but not enough to make an impression on a witcher. Geralt watched Alucard, watched the soft shape of his lips, the way his eyes focused on Geralt’s body and how he worshiped every bruised surface and scar. 

Geralt was a fairly famous witcher. He did some pretty dangerous stuff, but in the end he was just a witcher. He saved people one at a time and sometimes killed even more than he saved. Yet Alucard, a man who spent his whole life saving humanity as a whole, was bound and determined to worship Geralt as if he was the most precious, most amazing thing that he’d ever seen. Geralt had no idea how to feel about that. He could barely make words come through his throat. Nobody looked at him like this. Nobody saw so much value in him when there was literally nothing Geralt could do for them or aid them with.

Again, he was struck by how impossibly lucky he was. He knew that his friends often joked about how he never slept around any more. None of them really understood just what he’d found here. Except for perhaps Eskel. 

Geralt didn’t need to find other lovers; he didn’t even feel the urge. Alucard and Dracula gave him so much, fulfilled him and pleased him in so many ways, he didn’t want anyone else. It was easy to wait for them. 

Just as Alucard was rinsing off the residual soap from Geralt’s hair, Geralt turned his head to brush his lips against Alucard’s wrist. He laid a gentle kiss there; a small token of just how cherished he felt. 

“I love you,” he whispered into the skin there. The words didn’t seem like nearly enough to encompass what he felt, but it was the best he could do.

Alucard paused in his washing, his hands sliding to rest on Geralt’s shoulders. He leaned in, letting his forehead rest against Geralt’s.

“I love you, too,” he whispered just as quietly.

Geralt cradled Alucard’s face in both his hands and brushed his thumbs over the joint of the jaw. He closed his eyes and let himself enjoy the closeness. 

“You are so much better than I deserve. I’m so lucky, so damn lucky.”

He laid a gentle kiss on Alucard’s lips. It was a little, reverent thing, as if he were kissing the ring of a favored god. Then he leaned back and released his hold, freeing Alucard to move as he wanted again. Geralt couldn’t stop the small smile on his face, half pleased and half awed. 

“You have no idea,” Alucard murmured. “How much you mean to me, how much you changed my life. Don’t tell me about not being worthy. You have no idea what you are talking about.”

Happiness, sweet and bright, swelled a little more inside of Geralt’s chest and he smiled a little wider. “I’m so glad.”

A soft smile touched Alucard’s lips, too, and he wrapped his arms around Geralt and lifted up, bringing them both to standing. 

“Time to get dry,” Alucard said softly into his ear. 

Geralt couldn’t resist trailing one hand down Alucard’s side, pausing to grip his hip tightly. 

“And then time for more fun,” he said quietly back.

Alucard shivered, reminding Geralt that he’d been hard and waiting for a very long time now.

With Alucard’s help, they got out of the shower with relative ease and Geralt was led over to the couch. Quickly, Alucard fished several towels out of the cabinet and set them on the cushion beside him. Then he took one and began gently patting Geralt’s skin dry.

It was a joy to watch Alucard move. He was still wet from the shower and his skin was flushed bright pink. His cock was hard and heavy between his legs, and Geralt couldn’t wait to get his hands on it. 

The drying went fast. After that, Alucard headed over to the cabinet again and picked out some of Geralt’s bandaging supplies. Part of that included some antibiotic ointment, both to keep the incision on his chest clean as well as moist. Since Geralt knew damn well that he couldn’t get any kind of sustained infection, he wasn’t terribly worried about the antibiotic properties. Still, it helped the healing along and it made the doctors squawk less, so Geralt was diligent in using it. Alucard quickly applied it everywhere it was needed, but before he could reach for the bandaging, Geralt stopped him.

“Probably not wise to wrap me up yet. You might end up getting me a little dirty,” Geralt said with a slow, hungry bearing of teeth.

“Oh,” Alucard said slowly. Geralt got a good look at his eyes and noticed just how dilated his pupils were.

He reached up to push the wet hair away from his lovers face.

“You waited long enough.” He let one of his hands slide down to rest on Alucard’s stomach, just above his cock. He could feel how it trembled under his hand. “Want to get me inside you now?”

Alucard shuddered a breath in and the smell of his precome became even more intense.

“I want to make you slick,” Alucard whispered. His eyes were so dark that there wasn’t much gold left around his pupils. He hadn’t really bothered to dry himself off at all, so water still dripped off of his hair, down his shoulders and chest. As warm as the room was, it was still a little cooler than being in the shower itself and the air made Alucard’s nipples tight and hard on his chest. They practically begged to be teased.

Geralt had to swallow through a throat suddenly dry.

“That sounds good,” he agreed, already imagining Alucard’s hands on his cock. “How do you want me?”

“Lay down,” Alucard said roughly. His eyes flickered down Geralt’s body where his cock was definitely plumping up at the prospect of more attention.

Geralt leaned back and let himself sink into the soft pillows. He couldn’t take his eyes away from Alucard, from the blush staining his cheeks and the darkness of his eyes.

Alucard didn’t waste time. As soon as Geralt was relatively flat, Alucard straddled him, careful to keep his weight off of Geralt’s body. 

The feel of Alucard above him, the scent of him, was too much of a temptation. Geralt reached for Alucard’s cock, closed a loose fist over it, and gave it a careful stroke. He could feel how wet and how hard Alucard was, sticky with precome even with the water from the shower. Alucard gave a short, hoarse shout and leaned forward. One hand caught the back of the couch for support as his body shook from the sensation.

Alucard reached for the cabinet. His body stretched to get to the tiny drawer. Geralt couldn't help but notice the way that movement stretched Alucard’s chest over him and put his still puffy nipples just above Geralt’s face. 

That was too much to resist. Geralt arched his head, caught the nearest nipple with his teeth, and sucked hard. Alucard made a harsh moan and curled down closer to Geralt, pushing his chest at him. 

Geralt obeyed the wordless invitation and let his teeth drag over the sensitive nub while his hands drifted up that slim waist, over Alucard’s ribs, and eventually up to his firm pectorals. He did his best to squeeze and massage them all while teasing those pretty little nipples. He could feel Alucard’s cock twitch and jerk against his belly. The head leaked copious amounts of precome and smeared it all over Geralt’s skin.

“Please,” Alucard begged softly, twisting and twitching against him. “Let me…_please_.”

Geralt let up on his caresses and let his hands fall back to Alucard’s hips, giving him some breathing room.

As soon as he did, Alucard’s lube coated hands were at Geralt’s cock. They wrapped around him, stroking hand over hand, getting Geralt harder and sending a meastorm of sensation down his back and curling around his balls. Geralt hissed, hips twitching up a little. 

Yeah, he was ready for a round two. Definitely.

“You’re gonna need to do the work, pretty wolf,” Geralt said, already sounding rough and eager.

“Oh yes.” Alucard eyes were fixed on Geralt’s dick. “I want to.”

He was already lifting up, with his hands still around Geralt’s cock. His grip was firm and warm and his fingers careful as they kept Geralt steady. Then Geralt felt his cock nudge between Alucard’s soft cheeks, pressing against that tight little hole he loved so much. Alucard’s eyes were closed and his head tilted back, exposing the lovely length of his throat as he started bearing down on Geralt.

They both moaned at the feel of that tight hole resisting the intrusion. The pressure kept growing and Geralt could feel Alucard’s rim twitch against him. Could feel how it fought to stay closed before the slickness and the pressure forced the muscle to give up. Alucard’s ass opened up so slowly, so agonizingly slowly. His hole wrapped tightly around Geralt’s cockhead. It slid inside in achingly small increments as Alucard’s body caressed every millimeter of his cock.

Alucard was panting and there was a steady, almost subvocal whine ringing in his throat as he sank down. When the head was finally in, the heat and pressure made Geralt hiss and clench down to avoid thrusting unexpectedly. 

Alucard gasped and finally let go of Geralt’s cock as his hands flew up. One grabbed ahold of Geralt’s shoulder and the other rested on the cushion behind Geralt, no doubt avoiding the side with the broken collarbone. His head was hanging down and his lips were parted as he panted. Geralt couldn’t help himself, couldn’t just lay there and wait. He slid his hands up Alucard’s heaving chest, to his nipples, and pinched both of them at once.

Alucard shouted, jerked, and sank down halfway down Geralt’s cock in one move. That sensation alone was enough to make Geralt curse and let go. Then Alucard started lifting up, his tight hole clinging to Geralt’s cock all the way. Geralt decided to experiment and pinched those pretty nipples again. Sure enough, it made Alucard clench down and sink lower again. The hoarse sound he made while doing it went straight to Geralt’s balls.

“Fuck, you feel so good.” Geralt panted, his eyes rolling with the pleasure of it. 

He pinched Alucard’s nipples again and pulled, stretching them, and then released. This only made those sweet little buds more pointed and more tempting a target. Alucard cried out and shuddered above him, his chest heaving. His cock twitched again, spilling even more precome on Geralt’s belly.

Alucard got into a slow, stuttering rhythm. He pulled up off of Geralt’s cock until Geralt pinched and pulled Alucard’s nipples. Then he sank back down hard. Over and over they did this, with Alucard lifting up until Geralt used the harsh grip on his tortured little nipples to urge him back down. The feel of it, of Alucard clenching down on him, of the tight grip on Geralt’s cock, was almost too much. Geralt’s heart pounded and his balls were tight with the overwhelming pleasure curling down his belly.

There was a sheen of sweat on Alucard’s body. The scent of arousal was so strong, and his cock was so purple-red and hard, that Geralt could tell just how close Alucard was to coming. He decided to help out. 

He let go of one perky, pink nipple and moved down to Alucard’s cock. Geralt had intended to give it a few good strokes, to push his lover over the edge, but he never got the chance. The moment his hand closed against Alucard’s flushed, wet dick, Alucard shouted and tensed against him, clenching down so hard Geralt all but saw stars. Alucard came, his cock spurting pulse after pulse of come over Geralt’s hand and stomach as he jerked and twitched on Geralt’s cock, moaning at every harsh spurt.

Geralt watched him shudder and twitch, watched the tremors of orgasm wreck him. Through the whole thing, Geralt kept his hand around Alucard’s cock and on Alucard’s nipple, pulling at them rhythmically, hoping to prolong Alucard’s pleasure. With every release, Alucard’s ass tightened on Geralt’s cock, gripping it as surely as Geralt held on to him. 

“Geralt,” Alucard finally managed.

“Ride me,” Geralt said roughly, letting his hips twitch up a little, pushing his cock deeper into that crushing heat. “Ride me until I fill up that tight little hole of yours with my come.”

Alucard’s breath hitched and another shudder wracked him. His softening cock twitched in Geralt’s hold.

“Oh.” Alucard’s pupils were still blown wide, the pupils swallowing all the gold and the flush on his cheeks got even darker. 

Alucard visibly steeled himself. He grabbed a firmer hold on the back of the couch and then raised himself off of Geralt’s cock. Then there was the slow, delicious drag upwards, and then the equally slow drag down as Alucard worked himself back and forth on Geralt’s cock. 

The flush on Alucard’s face didn’t abate at all, and his mouth was open in a soundless gasp. His eyes were closed and his head lolled back as he slowly, deliciously rolled his hips. It was so clear that he loved it, loved having Geralt inside him even after he came, that it stole Geralt’s breath away. He’d never had a lover that showed him so clearly, so obviously that he enjoyed what Geralt was doing to him. With him. 

“Faster.” Geralt barely got the word out. He was so close already. “Show me how much you want me inside you, how much you want me filling you up.”

Alucard hung his head forward. Strands of his hair were already starting to dry; they tickled against Geralt’s chest. 

He did as Geralt asked, riding him faster, deeper, making sure to take the whole of Geralt’s cock on every move down. He gasped and moaned quietly at every move, clenching down hard with every thrust. 

The smell of come was thick in the air and overlaid the heavy scent of sweat and precome. Geralt’s nose was filled with sex and his ears were full of the obscene, wet sound of flesh on flesh. The unmistakable sounds of fucking and pleasure. Alucard’s nipples were puffy and red. They looked so hard that Geralt ached to put his mouth on them again. He could see the way Alucard’s muscles were working. How his thighs strained to lift up. Every time Alucard bottomed out, his balls slapped down on Geralt’s belly, and his hole tightened up hard around him.

“Faster,” Geralt urged through a dry throat, dizzy with lust and pleasure. It was so good, so damn good. The sweet grip on his cock stripped him of sanity. 

It really didn't take long, no more than a few minutes, and Geralt found himself holding Alucard’s hips tight as he spilled himself inside him for the second time. Wave after wave of orgasm, he kept Alucard flush against him, rocking them both with his release, and feeling his cock pulse as he pumped his come inside that tight channel. He imagined how it would look when Alucard pulled up. How the come would spill from him, messy and gorgeous. That only made his orgasm that much longer. Geralt groaned his pleasure out as the final tremors of his pleasure faded.

As soon as he could think, could move, he slid his hand to Alucard’s neck and pulled him down for a slow, wet kiss. All the while, he enjoyed the way Alucard was still randomly twitching on his cock.

Geralt wanted to do more, wanted to take care of Alucard better, but he had to admit if only to himself that he was tired. His assortment of wounds were making themselves known. Aches flared up and his eyelids felt heavy. 

He hated his lack of stamina. Geralt would need to do so much training to get back into shape again. But right now, he regretted the difference between him and Alucard. He knew Alucard would be up for more, that his lover liked to continue when the oversensitivity set in. Geralt couldn’t deliver though, not with how sleepy and worn out he was already feeling.

“You are thinking too much,” Alucard murmured against his shoulder. The places they were touching felt warm, but the rest of him was starting to get chilly even in the comfortable bathroom.

Geralt ran a slightly shaking hand through Alucard’s damp hair. A rueful smile curled at his lips. “Just thinking about all the things I wanna do to you.” It was left unsaid that these were things he couldn’t quite do just yet. 

Soon though.

He could tell. Something about the feel of his wounds, the way he ached and hurt. Geralt had been injured many times, and had overdosed on his potions many more. There was a scent, a burning, a pain that came with those hurts. This particular injury was extreme, sure, but Geralt was familiar with how his body mended. It wouldn’t be long now before he’d be ready to take Dracula’s power.

Soft kisses peppered across his jaw and across his neck. Geralt arched into the feeling even as his eyes struggled to stay open. Weariness weighed down on him and already his muscles burned from all the effort, what little he actually did. Alucard’s body was warm over him and that sweet, wet little hole was still keeping his softening cock warm.

“I’d stay here forever if I could,” Geralt mumbled quietly, still stroking Alucard’s hair. “Wrapped around you, inside of you. Fuck, you’re so pretty.”

He felt Alucard’s lips twist into a smile. “Father might have something to say about that.”

Geralt snorted. “He’d want to watch.”

“Yes.” Alucard’s voice was low and rough, though it held a note of amusement too. “We should get you cleaned up. Rebandaged.”

“Yeah,” Geralt agreed and then yawned, unexpectedly.

“You need rest,” Alucard said, starting to lift himself up.

Geralt only grumbled in response. He was so tired of resting already. It was very warm being so close to Alucard. Their scents mingled together and Alucard’s sweat was still sharp on Geralt’s tongue. 

“Sleep with me? After we’re cleaned up?” 

Alucard was sitting again, his palms resting lightly on Geralt’s chest.

“Yes,” he murmured, looking soft and pleased. 

Unlike Dracula, who detested sleep and often only lay in bed with them for hours without actually falling asleep, Alucard liked it. Geralt was pleased that he would get such a wonderful company for a nap.

A slow, happy smile spread across Geralt’s face. “Alright then. The sooner we get cleaned up, the sooner we can lay down together.” He trailed a finger down Alucard’s chest, still slick with sweat and come. “Though I kind of like how dirty you are right now.”

Alucard’s pupils dilated a little and he circled his hips just a tiny bit, reminding Geralt of how they were still joined. Just a hint of a wicked smile tugged at his lips. 

“You’ll just have to dirty me up again later.”

Geralt closed his eyes and let out a soft groan. 

Fuck, but he really was the luckiest man alive.

\---

Matt shook his head as he walked. This was a monumentally stupid idea. He’d been avoiding getting into a knife fight with Eskel for a solid week now.

It had been a challenge too. He’d gone through books, movies, foods, technology. He’d tossed everything from shopping sprees to Geralt’s sad, hurt puppy dog eyes at the situation. All in an effort not to be faced with this. _This_.

It wasn’t that Matt was afraid to fight Eskel. Granted, he did have a very healthy respect for the man’s skills. Given everything Matt had seen so far, he knew damn well that Eskel was a career soldier. One who had been living off of his skills for longer than Matt’s father had been alive, at that. Not to mention all the physical modifications.

The problem was that Matt did not want to take the brunt of Eskel’s boredom and frustration, nor did he ever want to be in a situation where he could potentially hurt a client. That was the very definition of counterproductive. 

It was also a damn awkward situation to be in. 

If this had been any other client, Matt would have outright refused no matter the consequences. Sparring with a client, or another hireling of a client, was a lose-lose scenario. Either he won the fight and potentially got in trouble for beating his opponent, or he lost the fight and cast the shadow of doubt on his own abilities.

Things were different with this particular case, if only because Eskel was so enhanced. There was very little question in Matt’s mind who would with the fight. Plus, Matt literally could not imagine Trevor being annoyed with either of them for the outcome of a spar. Unless that outcome involved death or property damage. 

Despite all of his misgivings, Matt found himself curious.

What _would_ it be like to have a friendly fight with the witcher? What kinds of techniques could he learn? No doubt Eskel had picked up some nasty tricks over the years. Every dedicated martial artist that Matt knew was always eager to experience or learn from other schools of study, and Matt was no exception to that.

Just in case, before Matt knocked on the gym door he sent a text to John letting him know what was going on. A moment later John messaged him back.

_I’ll have the building paramedic on alert. Remember, RICE: Rest, Ice, Compression, Elevation._

Matt snorted and stared at his phone with an unamused look, then quickly typed back:

_Ha fucking ha._

Seconds later another message popped up.

_That is what you get for deciding to fake-fight with the murder bunny._

As if he had a choice. Well, not much of one anyways. Just to make sure he got the last word in, Matt sent back:

_Watch it, or I’ll recommend you for some remedial training._

All he got in response was a series of shocked frowny face emojis. Matt snickered to himself and pocketed his phone.

He took a deep breath and knocked on the door. After a moment he heard a faint, “Come in.”

Eskel was kneeling in the middle of the gym; not even on the mats covering a good half of the gym but on the wood floor instead. Matt shook his head. Why would the man do this to his knees? Though given his probable conditioning, he wondered if Eskel even felt it. Or maybe he just hadn’t been kneeling there for long. 

Eskel was still dressed in his jeans and button up shirt and he had his sword harness on his back as well. So far, Matt hadn’t seen those particular blades in action. He’d seen Eskel practice with Geralt’s weapons, but not his own. They looked about the same size as Geralt’s. Longswords, or at least what Matt thought might be longswords. It wasn’t like he knew a great deal about medieval weaponry. 

Over the last week, Eskel had bitched enough about how limited his training was in Trevor’s room, just because of the limited amount of free space. What would his training look like with all the length of the gym to run through? What did it look like back at their home?

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” Matt said easily. 

That wasn’t totally true. He kind of hoped he was interrupting enough that Eskel would send him on his way. Or better yet, tell him just to sit back and watch. The opportunity to gather more information and watch a master practice his favored fighting style was a sweet one.

Eskel sighed and looked down at where his hands rested on his knees. “Nothing that I was getting anywhere with anyways.”

Matt wasn’t really sure how to take that, so he said nothing.

“Everything alright?” Eskel asked as he stood up. The movement was so fluid it was more like he unfolded upright. 

“Fine. Geralt is trying to get Trevor to eat something. Relax from the day.” 

Something about that made a series of microexpressions flit across Eskel’s face. The satisfaction Matt expected. But the hints of amusement and...something else, were more surprising. Jealousy maybe? Worry? It was hard to tell.

Whatever was going on there, Matt chalked it up to whatever weird interpersonal soap opera was going on between them all. He’d been confused so many times this week about it that he’d stopped trying to keep up. Someone, somewhere, was probably fucking someone...who was probably Gabriel Belmont. Beyond that, Matt tossed his hands up in the air and tried very hard not to think about it. 

“Well. Hopefully that will work out for them both,” Eskel said, somewhat nonsensically. “Geralt send you out to check up on me?” he asked, one eyebrow raised dryly. Almost as if there was a double meaning here that Matt was missing.

“Basically,” Matt said with a shrug. “You look like you’re doing alright, though.”

“Hmmm. Yes.” Eskel sighed heavily and his mouth twisted into a frown. “No worse than I expected anyways…”

Again, something struck off tone for Matt. This was the second time that Eskel had hinted that things weren’t well with him.

Matt took a few steps closer, putting him into a more comfortable talking range. A little voice in the back of his head whispered that this put him in range of Eskel’s swords, too, but Matt kept that wary thought under wraps. If Eskel had wanted to hurt him, he could have done it at any point. 

It came as a mild surprise to Matt when he realized that he trusted Eskel, at least a little. Everything that Eskel had done since he showed up at the hospital was utterly consistent with his words about Trevor, Geralt, and Gabriel’s safety being his top priority. Trusting him was rather like trusting any other incredibly dangerous person; as long as Matt made sure he was never in between Eskel and what he cared about, they would have no issues. 

What came as even more of a surprise was how much Matt liked Eskel. Geralt drove him a little crazy, but Matt appreciated Eskel’s quiet, dry sense of humor. Maybe it was also the fact that they both had a lot of combat experience and used that in their daily job.

Eskel was still kind of a damn lunatic, though. 

Matt ran his tongue over his teeth and took a moment to choose his words. Something was amiss with Eskel. As a friend, or at least a friend-like-person, he wished there was something he could do to help. But people like Eskel didn’t take help lightly and were even less inclined to share personal matters with mostly-strangers.

“You wanna talk about it?” Matt asked finally. “Whatever is bothering you?”

Eskel looked up at him and his eyebrows arched in surprise. For a moment he opened his mouth, ready to speak. Then he shook his head and grimaced. “I can’t. But...thank you.”

He struggled for words for a moment. Matt kept his peace and waited to see what else might come up.

“There’s a thing I need to master,” Eskel said haltingly. “And I can’t fucking get it at all.”

Well that was a vague enough answer. An interesting one though. 

“That sucks,” Matt said, nodding sympathetically. “You got anyone who can help you with it?”

Eskel snorted.

“The explanations I got so far range from ‘it’s _instinct_’ to ‘it just _is_’.”

Matt winced. “Well that’s helpful.”

“Right?!” Eskel sounded vindicated.

“I had that same problem back when I was a teenager and my cousin tried to teach me advanced math. Everytime I asked her how certain problems worked she looked at me like I'd asked if she was sure the sky was blue. It was just so obvious to her that she didn’t know how to explain it at all.”

Eskel just growled in frustration and held both of his hands towards Matt as if to say, _see?!_

“I wish I could help you figure it out,” Matt said, shaking his head. “I never could get her to explain how differential equations worked.”

“How did you deal with the issue then?” Eskel asked.

“Slogged through one problem at a time slowly, by myself. I got it eventually but I was never as good at them as her. It was work to me while to her it was a breeze.”

Eskel just looked up to the ceiling and sighed like his soul was being ripped out. “That’s...exactly what I was afraid of.”

“My only advice would be not to push it. If you try to force it, you will only frustrate yourself and it will become even harder to learn than it already is. Be patient. You'll figure it out.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Eskel rubbed his eyes. “I know. I just. I guess I was hoping that a witcher’s affinity for physical skills would carry over.” 

At this point Matt really had to wonder what it was that Eskel wasn’t getting. 

“Although…” Eskel paused a moment and frowned. “There might be others who know this skill too. Not sure if it’s worth it to try and talk to them. Or if it would even translate...kind of a different...err, origin. Hrmmm.” 

At this point he was clearly just talking to himself. Matt stayed silent as he worked it through.

“Yeah. Yeah, maybe I’ll talk to Iga. And Triss or Yen.” Eskel seemed to brighten up a little after that. Given what little Matt knew about Iga and Yennefer, he was even more concerned about whatever skill Eskel was trying to learn. Suddenly, Matt started suspecting it was some kind of arcane sex thing and shuddered at the thought of Eskel trying to _master_ it.

“Thanks, Matt,” Eskel said with a surprised little smile on his face. “I’ll tell Gabriel you helped.”

_Oh no_. 

Matt suppressed a shiver of disquiet. Now he _really_ hoped that whatever skill Eskel was trying to learn wasn’t a sex thing. The absolute last thing he needed was Eskel telling Gabriel fucking Belmont that Matt offered great advice on that front. 

“Please don’t,” Matt said flatly.

Eskel snorted in amusement, but didn’t look unsympathetic. “I suppose I should wait to see if it actually works.”

That wasn’t much better. Matt would take it though. 

“So,” Eskel clapped his hands, “ready for the sparring?”

As much as Matt wanted to sigh, his curiosity was starting to get the better of him.

“What kind of hand to hand fighting do you do?” Matt asked. “Because I’ve got to admit, I have never even picked up a sword.”

Eskel raised his eyebrows in surprise, but then nodded. “That makes sense, given what I’ve seen here so far. Witchers all get plenty of blade training, a lot of which includes what to do if you don’t have a blade but you need to get one. Or if your opponents have blades and you don’t want them to have them. But bare knuckle fighting for us is a little more piecemeal. We get some, but it’s not our specialty.”

“Hand to hand is the vast majority of my training,” Matt said, shifting in place a little. Just thinking about all the years of training he did made him instinctively want to settle into a fighting stance. “Lots of disarm moves. Lots of moves that focus on destroying an opponent's joints and other vulnerable spots. Krav Maga is fast, brutal, and effective. Kind of a mish mash of several other fighting styles. They picked the most effective stuff and shoved it together.”

With every word, Eskel’s eyes lit up more in interest. “Oh really? Gods, now I really do wish Geralt was able to fight. It’s so much easier to watch a technique when it’s not being actively used on you.” He shook his head. “Let’s skip swords and knives then. I wanna see what you can do hand to hand.” Eskel shook off his sword harness and put it down on the floor off to the side.

Before Eskel could step closer, Matt held up a hand. “We should put on training gear. Either that or go at half speed. Or both. Most of what I can do is designed to break things that take months to heal, and I know damn well you’re faster and stronger than me. You might be able to heal broken bones in days, but I have to keep going to work this week.”

Eskel nodded. “That’s fair. Does Trevor have anything like that around here?”

It took a little investigation, but it turned out that the gym was fully equiped with some type of training pads. They weren’t exactly what Matt was familiar with and they also looked completely unused. 

Eskel looked through the equipment but didn’t seem to pick anything. He just fussed with things before putting them back down.

Matt took off his jacket and worked on taping up his knuckles. He shouldn’t need the tape, he didn’t plan on having that much impact on his fists, but at this point he’d take any extra protection he could get. While he was taping up his hands, Eskel spotted the gun at his low back.

“Your gun?” Eskel asked, pointing to it.

It was a strangely obvious question. Like he’d never actually seen one. He had to be at least a little familiar with the concept after a week of movies and internet surfing, but Matt really had to wonder if Eskel had never been shown a gun before. 

“Yes. SIG Sauer P229.” 

Normally, Matt wouldn’t show anyone his weapon. That was just asking for trouble. But he knew that Eskel would know better than to try and touch. Not only that, but in order to properly defend against guns, Eskel would have to see them first hand and see how they worked. Since Eskel was currently keeping an eye on Trevor and Geralt, it would only behoove Matt to show him.

He drew his pistol, holding it in front of him on its side so Eskel could see it properly.

“How does it work?”

“A spark causes the charge to explode and the released gases propel the bullet out at great speed.” Matt pointed to the barrel. “It’s why the basic of gun safety is to never point it at anybody you don’t want to shoot.”

“Hm.” Eskel frowned. “But it must be so loud. First shot and everyone knows you're there.”

Matt had to admit that Eskel was a truly consummate soldier. He immediately caught on to the biggest problem with guns. He briefly wondered about mentioning silencers, but unlike what the movies showed, silencers did not make a gunshot suddenly sound like a fly farting.

“People who are looking to be a little more stealthy can use silencers. That’s an attachment on the end of the barrel that helps dampen the noise. But those still only do so much. It’s still going to be loud enough that around you will hear it. It won’t echo for miles, though.”

“Miles.” Eskel winced. “It must be hell on ears.”

“They can be. If I was at the gun range doing target practice, I’d wear ear protection.” He shrugged. “Can’t afford that when out on the job. Here,” he said, pointing towards the hammer. “This is the firing mechanism. When I pull the trigger, this little hammer hits very quickly, which hits the firing pin, which in turn is what sparks the bullet. If you put something in between here, blocking the hammer, the gun won’t go off. It’s strong enough to shatter bone, though, so be careful.” Then he pointed towards the safety. “This is a little switch that basically works as a failsafe. When it’s flipped like this---” he pushed the safety off, “---you’ll see a little red dot and that means the weapon is live. All it needs is a pull of the trigger and it will go off. If this isn’t flipped, the weapon won’t fire.”

Eskel watched with a ferocious intensity, leaning in to peer at what Matt was pointing at but never even looking like he wanted to touch. “Can I see you fire it?”

“Not here. It wouldn’t be safe. But at some point maybe we could hit up a practice range.” 

“I wouldn’t mind something to practice my knife throwing on,” Eskel said, looking at Matt eagerly. “And crossbow.”

Matt blinked. Crossbow. “Yeah, sure. Usually archery ranges and gun ranges are different, but I can find us a place that does both.” He blinked again. “You seriously use a crossbow?”

“Do your ranges have moving targets?” Eskel perked up even more. “And limited visibility?”

“Moving targets, definitely. Limited visibility we’ll have to plan for. I know of an outside range that has a skeet shooter. That...probably would work for crossbows.” Matt frowned as he thought about it. “They’re little clay tablets that are tossed into the air by a...a...thing, and you shoot them out of the air. Usually people use them for shotguns, but crossbow would probably work fine too. We’ll just have to pick a foggy day.”

“Geralt managed to pick up a sweet diagram for a one handed Ursine school crossbow. That thing is tiny but packs quite a wallop. I definitely need to train up with it. I saw Geralt do some pretty sweet shots on it.”

A diagram? Seriously, where the hell were these guys even from?

Matt shook his head and tried not to think about it. That in and of itself was becoming a worrying trend. 

“I need to just take you to a hunting supply store. Or maybe a specialty convention. There are trade shows for this stuff, both for amateur collectors and those of us who work security as a full time job.”

“I love armorer’s conventions,” Eskel said dreamily. “Last time there was one in Novigrad, Lambert and I spent every coin we had and never regretted a thing.”

Matt holstered his gun and snapped it tight into place. He didn’t feel comfortable taking it off, not while he was still on duty, but the heavy holster he had for it would keep it out of the way while they fought. Then he put on a padded chest protector and foam helmet. Probably boxing leftovers. Based on the wide variety of equipment, John must have just had it stocked with a generic assortment of gym accessories. From the looks of most of it, it had never been touched. 

“You ready?” Eskel asked. While he looked a little curiously at the padding, he clearly was keeping most of his skepticism to himself. Matt reminded himself that Eskel had been trained in a far harsher school than any Matt had learned in. Spec Ops training was no joke, but some of the things he’d heard over the last week made even his blood run cold.

“You really not going to put on any of the padding?”

Eskel smiled wryly.

“First few years we trained as boys, we were forbidden from using any kind of armor or safety devices. The teachers said that we wouldlearn the lessons quicker if they hurt. Eventually, we worked up to equipment, but that was only after we started surviving the trials.” He shrugged. “The habit stuck. Now we either train in full armor and gear, or plain clothes.”

Matt had to shake his head. That was just brutal. 

For a moment he debated about adding padded gloves, but opted against it. If he got to the point where his knuckles were bruised, he wasn’t doing his martial art justice. Besides, Eskel clearly didn’t care about the prospect of getting bashed in the head.

“Unarmed first,” Matt suggested. “If that goes okay, maybe we can try out some knife moves too.”

“Sounds good.” Eskel waved him over to the middle of the room.

_I am probably going to regret this_, Matt thought to himself and headed over.

No sooner had Matt put his hands up in a defensive posture than Eskel shot forward with a quick jab. Even with the padded helmet, Matt felt like his bell had been rung. But he was a soldier, and he’d been in more than one fight. 

The disorientation didn't last for more than a split second. Then Matt was twisting away, neatly moving out of range of the second punch. 

They moved back and forth for a minute, both making a few punches but neither fully engaging. 

Eskel was fast. Brutally fast. He was _extremely_ straightforward in his attacks, though, relying on pure speed and strength. 

Luckily for Matt, in hand to hand fighting, speed and strength weren’t everything. Positioning, balance, and momentum were all just as important. More so, even. 

Eskel lunged forward in a classic boxer's punch, powerful, fast, and hard as a sledgehammer. If Matt had taken that head on, he would have been knocked out cold, helmet or not. If he’d tried to block, he still might have broken something. 

So he did something better. He slipped just off that centerline of attack, moving forward at a forty five degree angle. This closed the range of engagement but also got him out of the way of that fist.

_Barely._

He could see Eskel’s eyes widening, but it was too late. Eskel couldn’t stop his momentum this far into the movement.

Right at the fullest extension of that punch, Matt pivoted, his body tight up to Eskel’s. He braced his arms, one on the back of Eskel’s shoulder and the other one scooping up under Eskel’s bicep, putting Eskel’s shoulder joint in a lock. He kept moving along with Eskel’s forward momentum, using his own speed and strength against him to push him straight to the floor.

All of this happened in just a second or two. One moment Eskel was punching him, the next he was flying towards the ground with Matt leveraging that shoulder. If pressure was applied in the right way, a body would move whether it wanted to or not. It was all about understanding how joints flexed and in which direction. 

A little more pressure and a second later and Eskel was face down on the floor with his arm barred straight up behind him. Matt had his knee pressed right against the elbow, leaning on it enough to let Eskel know that with one more move he could snap it.

If it had been anyone else Matt was fighting, he would have finished with punches to the face. He had the sinking feeling that Eskel wouldn’t be as fazed or damaged by the hits as a regular human would though. A joint breaker would be the smarter move. Dangerous, yes, and tricky at such quick speeds. But Matt knew that his opportunities to get the advantage over someone much stronger and faster than him would be few and far between.

“Fuck!” Eskel grunted out, but Matt could see how he was smiling.

Matt found himself grinning back. He let Eskel’s arm free and stepped back, letting him up.

“That was fantastic!” Eskel said, shaking out his arm. His face had cracked into an incredibly wide smile. “Do that again! But slower, I want to see how it works.”

Matt laughed. In that moment, Eskel sounded like every other martial artist he had ever trained with. Wherever the fuck Eskel was from, some things must still be universal.

“Yeah, no problem.” Matt jumped in place a little, warming up more. Fuck, he should have stretched. Already he was feeling the adrenaline bubble up, wiping out his nerves and reservations. “I’ll school you, old man.”

“Pffft, get your wins in while you can,” Eskel said, his strange golden eyes sparkling. “We get to the knife fighting and you are gonna get your ass handed to you.”

Since that was nothing less than the bare truth, Matt just grinned harder. He was miles better at hand to hand than he was with knife fighting. 

Maybe this wouldn’t be as bad as he thought.

He waved Eskel over and set up his stance. Immediately, Eskel walked over, utterly focused on how Matt was standing.

“The trick is in positioning and momentum…” 

\---


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes from Quarra: An extra big thanks to Dira for going above and beyond with Beta-ing. You have my deep, unending, appreciation. 
> 
> Happy Mother's Day to those who celebrate.

After being pulled through the black metallic-smelling portal, Friedrich found himself dragged along rough stone. He couldn’t see what was around him; the swarming shadow hounds covered every scrap of his view. The ground under him was warm, like it had been baking in the summer sun all day without even a hint of shade, but there was barely any light to see by, covered as he was by inky black fur and snarling teeth.

The bites in his arm and leg burned like they’d been dipped in poison. Each tug was agony. Friedrich would have walked, would have _loved_ to walk, to wherever they were headed, but the hounds were content to drag him along. Their snarls sounded happy. Pleased, even. 

He was weeping by the time they pulled him to a stop. How long he rested there, he wasn’t sure. His internal sense of time had gone askew; Friedrich could have waited there for just a few seconds or for hours. He couldn’t know. Counting his breaths and heartbeats had no effect, for he couldn’t keep his mind on the task. The order jumbled up and he found himself counting the same number over and over. 

When the hounds finally spread apart, Friedrich saw he was in a vast, dark room. If it was a hall, it was one that was far too large for mortal proportions. He couldn’t see the ceiling or the edges of the room; all was shrouded in darkness. It couldn’t have been a cavern either. The stone under him was patterned and grotesquely carved columns sprouted out of the ground and disappeared up into the shadows above. Red lights were hovering mid-height on the columns, casting flickering light that only made the shadows look darker and more menacing.

Next to him was another man.

Friedrich had to blink. It was his patron, Count Sigismund Dijkstra! 

He looked just as bad off as Friedrich was himself, with oozing bite marks along his limbs. Dirt spread across his fine court clothes and the metal support cage around his leg was twisted and mangled with the flesh crushed under it. No doubt a casualty of the monstrous dogs bites. 

But where Friedrich felt terrified and ill-equipped, Dijkstra looked about ready to spit nails with fury. 

A slow, creeping dread came over Friedrich as he realized that Dijkstra wasn’t looking at him. In fact, he was looking very specifically in front of them. 

Terror flooded up Friedrich's spine. He forced himself to look forward, to see the architect of their fate. 

The rough, blackened stone of the floor sloped upwards into carved steps. The carvings were outlandish and detailed. Images of licking flames spread out from the base and shapes reminiscent of bones and skulls had been etched into the shiny stone. 

At the peak of those steps was a large throne. It thrust up from the rock as if it had grown there. The carvings on it looked so lifelike that it was almost like living creatures had been frozen and cast into stone. But whatever those creatures were, they bore no resemblance to anything human. Horns and fangs, claws and leathery wings graced that monstrous chair. Emanating from it was a sickly sense of dread. An oozing, foul evil so thick, so vile and choking, that Friedrich wanted to vomit just looking at it. 

Upon that throne sat a dark figure. 

It was difficult to make out the man’s features, so shrouded in darkness was he. He sat sprawled, like a barbarian king. What little light that graced the room shone on his dark metal greaves and glinted gold on the edges of a long, heavy-looking red coat. His hands were bare, but each finger was tipped in a wickedly sharp black claw. One was rested on the arm of the throne, while the other held an elaborate gold goblet. His chest was bare and pale, but even that faded away into shadow.

Of his face, Friedrich could see nothing. Only hotly glowing red eyes, shining like torches in the black miasma of the throne. There was the faint suggestion of waving black hair, floating gently in a breeze that no one else felt. Darkness hung on the man like a crown, radiating out from the man’s face like some unholy antithesis of the sun.

The man lowered the hand with the goblet and let it drop from his fingers. The gold never hit the ground, darkness rushing up and swallowing the goblet before it made contact.

“Welcome,” the man said getting up from his throne.

He was big, bigger than Friedrich assumed, his chest that of a barbarian warrior, thick with muscle and strangely smooth at the same time. The coat, red and heavy, seemed to be the only source of color in the place.

“This is my kingdom,” he spread his hands in a dramatic fashion and every hound, every dark creature crowded around them, howled with an eerie, hollow voice that seemed to cut right through Friedrich’s soul. “Hell.”

Friedrich had never considered himself overly pious. Devout, perhaps. Loyal, definitely. But more concerned with the goings on of the material realm than those of the afterlife. He left discussions of the nature of the afterlife to the priests.

But now in the face of who and what stood before him, Friedrich found himself reciting the basic prayers of the Eternal Flame. 

“Eternal Fire, which lighteth our hearts and give us light…” he muttered, eyes so wide they felt like they might burst. 

“Shut up, you fucking fool,” Dijkstra snarled at him. “It’s a little bloody late for praying now, don’t you think?”

“You both committed a crime against me,” the man said, coming slowly down the steps, the edges of his armored coat clinking gently as they hit the backs of his armored boots.

To Friedrich’s absolute horror, this only made Dijkstra smile, vicious and mean. “You’re gonna have to be a little more specific.”

“...We are born in flames, we die in flames, blessed are those who bathe in the Eternal Fire…” Friedrich continued on, frantically wishing with every part of his heart that his words would be heard. That any moment this nightmare would end.

“Geralt of Rivia,” the man said, stopping three steps away from them. “You attempted to kill him. Conspired to send your precious Eternal Fire Soldiers after him, hunt him down like an animal.” The man was no longer neutral or pleased; anger was gaining strength in his voice. This was personal.

The name alone was enough to make Friedrich break off the prayers. Geralt of Rivia? The _witcher_?

Even Dijkstra looked a little stunned.

“Geralt of fucking Rivia?” Dijkstra said flatly. “That whoreson really did get himself in league with some fucking demon, didn’t he? I thought the damn dragon thing was some mage’s bullshit, but lo and behold. Looks like there is some grain of truth to all the propaganda.”

“Not some demon, no,” the man again sounded amused, his moods changing at lightning speed. “I am Dracula, Lord of Darkness,” he looked down at Dijkstra. “I am the lord of Darkness _itself_. Demons are merely my subjects.” He looked over the seething mass of things waiting just out of sight. “Geralt is mine, you see. Body, mind and soul, everything he is, is _mine_.” Dracula growled the last word out. “As is his life,” he added almost gently again. The mood changes were terrifying. “And you nearly succeeded in taking something which is mine.”

“We were right,” Friedrich whispered. “Oh Flame, _we were right_. The witchers bring forth darkness on the land! They are a plague, a vile infestation! Oh sweet Eternal Fire, the Order must know of this. They must find out. We should have burned every last trace of them from our lands the moment they set foot in them.”

Dracula looked to Freidrich then, his eyes burning.

“You only hate witchers because you already know they are your defenders. You are so brave with the filth you spew onto them because you know the lie of your words.” Dracula smiled then, his lips pulling up to show the fangs distorting his teeth. “You seem so enamored with Darkness, so eager to see it in the innocents you kill to stroke your ego. You have committed so much evil, your soul is all but rotten to the core. You would have come here even without my intervention, but I am a thoughtful ruler. I decided that since you spent your life doing evil, you should spend the rest of eternity among those you aspired to emulate.”

Despite the heat of the hall, a cold sweat broke out over Friedrich’s body. He trembled against the stone, unable even to move away from the imposing figure in front of him. Those boiling red eyes seemed to dig right into his soul. Weighing him and finding him _wanting_. 

“No,” he whispered. This could not be. It was impossible. 

The pain in his leg and his arm was the only thing that convinced him that this was really happening. 

“No, I did what was _good_. What was _right_.” Friedrich swallowed hard, all but panting with the horror that was building up inside of him. Whatever was going on in the vast room around him was lost to him. This monster in front of him dominated all of his focus, every scrap of attention.

“You did what was _profitable_. What was _convenient_,” Dracula said softly. A vicious, ugly smile twisted at his face. Then he tilted his head. “And you are not the only one in your family to do so, are you?” He leaned his head in and took a delicate sniff. “Your blood smells familiar. You had a brother, didn’t you? Or perhaps a close cousin. A mage who liked to meddle with the lives of others, one who loved to torture and experiment.”

For a moment Friedrich was confused. The hell was he talking about? 

“What?” he babbled out. Then it hit him. He did have a cousin who was a mage. A bit of a black sheep because of his powers. He’d taken his portion of his inheritance early and disappeared. No one had heard of him in years. “Who? Ireneus?” Friedrich’s face twisted in disgust and confusion. “The hell does he have to do with anything?”

Again, Dracula’s mercurial mood shifted and he smiled, slow and terrifying. “Nothing, except I think I will enjoy what is to come a little more than I expected.”

“You can’t hold me here,” Dijkstra said, his voice low and threatening.

“I can,” Dracula replied evenly.

“I’ll find a way out, and I will fucking ruin you as I do it.”

“You will not. You _cannot_.”

As Dracula spoke those words, the darkness in the hall around them pressed in on them. Closer and closer it crept, more a sensation than a sight. There was a pressure to it that seeped into the bones.

“You will stay here until the end of days.” Dracula’s smirk grew wider. Hungrier. “Rejoice! For you will never die. You will live as many thousands of years as it takes for all of creation to end and in all that time you will never find relief. You almost managed to take something irreplaceable from me.” His voice, low and raspy, seemed to echo inside Friedreich's chest, rattling between his bones. “That is why I wanted you here living and breathing, you see,” Dracula said slowly, pleasure rumbling through his voice. “Because if you were dead, the punishment would have an end.”

The darkness around them had grown loud. Unnamed snarls and growls filled it up. Little whispered calls and coos, grunts and howls, scratching and crunching, the sounds pressed in upon them, as real and heavy as any hand, and the heat spiked up hard. 

Now Friedrich found the energy to try and scramble away.

But there was nowhere to go. The shadows had already filled in behind him, holding him still, creeping up his body in heavy, rancid, pawing grabs. Up his legs, into the bite marks, and sliding along his blood and sweat. Under his clothes and armor. In his hair and tickling into his ears and under his nails. 

He couldn’t see Dijkstra any more. Couldn’t even hear him. He couldn’t even hear himself over the din of the creatures around him.

All he could see was Dracula’s happily burning eyes and the pleased, awful grin.

\--

It was just after nightfall, still early enough that The Twin Swords' common room was busy as hell. Locals, foreigners, and military men alike filled the tables and pressed up against the bar. A warm fire in the hearth kept out the winter’s chill, and Wilhelm had just brought out the second cauldron of stew to warm by it. 

Vanessa was pleased to note that while the naming of her inn got some commentary from the locals, it was mostly accepted without much fuss. Palo and Mika had done well talking to their neighbors. While the newly arrived military and foreign envoys might show both suspicion and a healthy dose of fear of the witchers, the locals all knew just how much they had helped protect those who lived here.

And really, even disregarding the monster hunting they did, the sheer amount of coin they spent on booze and food ensured more than one family’s survival during the lean years. While they were known to winter in their fortress it was also well known the fortress was ruined and mostly abandoned. It wasn’t like they grew their own crops or raised their own cattle. They had to get all of that from the town and that meant income when there was none to have otherwise.

As such, her bar stayed as busy as ever, even on a shitty cold night like tonight. The locals kept coming and happily jibed her about finally naming her dressed-up shack, and the foreigners didn’t even blink a damn eye at the new sign. Or if they did, it was lost in the blanket disdain they held for small towns in general.

The door opened, letting in a bitter chill. 

“Welcome!” Vanessa started to say, but the word trailed off, dying on her tongue as she saw who entered the bar. 

Well. Less a _who_ and more a what. 

They were human enough in shape, at least, walking on two legs with regular-looking arms and heads. The one in front was the most normal looking, but even he bore little resemblance to humanity. His face was fair and clean and his hair was raven black. But his eyes were a burning, bloody red, and his skin was pale and grey like dirty snow. The lines of his clothes were lost in their stark black color; the only relief from the shadows that wrapped his body was the cloth draping one shoulder. It was ruby red, the same red of freshly spilled blood, and on it was a black snarling dragon.

The two behind him were obviously guards, though far more monstrous. They stood a hand taller than the one in front and wore full plate armor, tarnished and black. Their faces looked more like skulls than anything else and sharp teeth showed through lipless mouths. Sturdy helms covered their heads, and glowing red eyes shone out from their shadowed eye sockets. They, too, wore the red and black dragon livery, the image painted on their shields. 

As soon as the three of them walked in the room went dead silent. People inched away slowly, as if they could somehow avoid garnering the monster’s attention.

The one in front smiled, and dragged his eyes across the room. He waited a full, terrifying half minute before slowly making his way towards the bar. 

People melted away from them, many scurrying right out the door. Vanessa stood frozen in place, mouth dry, and eyes wide as they could be. Some small part of her was screaming that this is where she would die. The rest of her was just damn glad she made people pay up front, what with how they were fleeing.

“Greetings, barkeep,” the one in front said. 

Gods, but he had _fangs_ in his mouth. He was a gods-be-damned _vampire_.

“Aye, and good evening to you,” she said hoarsely, her mouth acting without any input from her brain.

_Palo said that it was a city of vampires. I knew that this was what was right over the wall. I shouldn’t be surprised._

The reality of the situation was a bit harder to reconcile. 

She swallowed hard. “What can I serve you lads?”

For some reason, that just made the front one smile a little wider. “I am here on orders from the castle Steward to buy a small amount of supplies. Things we do not normally make ourselves. While we discuss that, I would be happy to buy a glass of wine.”

_Everybody wants bloody wine_, Vanessa thought sourly, and shook her head.

“‘Fraid we have no wine here. Kaedwen is shit for grapes. But we got mead and brandy. Some applejack, too, if you like, and beer of course.”

A few more people in the bar fled, but most seemed to settle in to watch. Especially those few foreigners that had stopped by. She could just barely see how uneasily they shifted in their seats, but everyone seemed to lean in a bit to listen too. 

The vampire tilted his head at her and furrowed his brow. “Applejack?”

“Fermented cider, frozen over and over again until it becomes a strong liquor.” She fished up a jug of it from under the bar and showed him the amber liquid. “It’s sweet, very sweet. Smells like apples and burns like vodka.”

How she was even able to pull off this conversation, she had no idea. Her hands were shaking and slippery with cold sweat. Every muscle in her body was screaming with tension. Something about the way these three looked at her made her feel more like a prey animal than anything else she’d ever encountered. 

“A glass of that, then.” The vampire slid a gold coin across the bar, pushed across with a single clawed finger.

She grabbed a clean glass and poured him a triple, then slid it towards him, just as careful.

“This coin will pay for a hell of a lot more than one drink,” she said, glancing down at the gold. 

“Consider it a tip. For the prompt service.” He smiled, the soul of generous courtesy. It sent a shiver down her back. 

Somehow, the fact this… demon… was so smooth and almost charming, made the whole experience that much more frightening. If he wanted, if he wore gloves and lost his guards, he could pass as human easily. With gold to spend, the sheer scope of what he could do chilled her blood.

After a moment, she nodded and pocketed the coin. “About the supplies. What do you need?”

If the damn monster was here to buy things and she was ordered by the fucking king himself not to go for her butcher’s knife, well. Might as well see what he wanted to buy.

Interestingly, that caused him to furrow his brow in mild concern. He opened his mouth, and then closed it. 

Finally, he asked, “What do witchers like?”

She blinked at him.

“Come again,” she said flatly.

The vampire licked his lips. “I was ordered to bring something ‘nice’ for the witchers.”

Vanessa blinked at him again, stunned. This was the last thing she expected to be asked about. 

“I had...hoped you might have a bit more insight than the average human.” He raised a delicate eyebrow at her. “From the painted silver and steel blades on your sign, I assume you are at least vaguely familiar with witchers?”

“Oh. Well. Yes, a bit.” Vanessa’s mind swam as she scrambled to come up with something useful to say. “The ones that stay in Kaer Morhen have been known to stop here on their way in and out of the area…”

“Excellent. Then we chose our destination well.” The vampire paused a moment, and then raised his eyebrows expectantly at her. “What would they think is ‘nice’?”

“Well, booze, mostly,” Vanessa said bluntly. She caught a couple of the locals stifling a smirk behind their mugs. Everyone who’d ever been here when a witcher stopped by knew that they drank like fish. 

Just to have something to do with her hands, she grabbed a rag and started wiping up mugs. Chances were good she’d have to wash them again later, but as long as she had something to distract her fingers it wouldn’t be quite so obvious that they were shaking. 

“There’s a lot of rumors that go around about them,” she said hesitantly. “Some I wouldn’t put no stock in, and some I wouldn’t dare ask about to see if they were true. But everyone who’s seen them here knows they can put away five times the alcohol that any regular man could.”

The vampire hummed at her and slowly turned his mug in a circle on the bar top. “We do not much see the need for… human foods in our city. It is not a thing we have had use for.”

Vanessa suddenly realized what the monster was getting at. They had that whole damn witcher keep up there in the middle of their city and not a single one of them had the foggiest idea of what the witchers might need to live. 

Gods, but how many monsters were in that city? Were there really _no_ humans at all there?

“Oh.” She nodded. “Yes, well. Staples are a good thing. Never met a witcher who doesn’t like to eat. Sugar. Flour. Salt. Honey. They usually hunt their own meats, but these are things that farmers are good for. That they buy, sometimes.” 

“I will need to buy those things, then,” The vampire said with a firm nod. Then he sort of shrugged a little. It was a bizarrely helpless sort of look, as if he were just as damn puzzled about this turn of events as she was. “Whatever these staples are. We shall see how they work out, and can adjust our orders for next time.”

_Next time_.

He was going to come back. With demon guards. And hang out in her bar while someone gathered up various foodstuffs. 

Vanessa looked to the two hulking warrior demons still standing behind the vampire. Then she looked around to the others in the bar. Half of the damn crowd had fled, and the other half were huddling in terror, obviously torn between curiosity and a healthy sense of self preservation. No one was talking. No one was ordering anything, not food nor drink.

She frowned.

“Look, if you’re to come back here and order, I’d be happy to fill up your order. But could you…” She paused and pursed her lips. “I don’t know, get your guards to wear a cloak or something? You’re scaring off my custom.”

The vampire looked at her neutrally, then slowly turned to look at the guard on the left. He looked up. And up. And _up_.

“And that will help, how?” he asked, something like laughter at the edges of his voice.

_Sassy little thing, isn’t he?_

A sour pucker twisted at her lips. Yes, the damn guards were tall as hell, and perhaps a cloak wouldn’t help much, but it would be _something_. 

“If you have a better idea, I’m open to suggestions.” Vanessa raised an eyebrow at him.

There was still a mildly infuriating look of amusement on his face, but it was subdued. “I will pass along your request to the Steward. She will decide what can be done. In the meantime, you have told me what witchers like as regular fare, but what do they think is _nice_. What would please them?”

This time Vanessa barely held her tongue, because the first damn thing that popped to mind was ‘whores’. 

Not that Goose Landing had any. Their town was really too small to have anyone of negotiable virtue making a living peddling their skin. But when the witchers came by and told their stories, oh did the ladies of the night have a prominent place in them. 

She thought her answer through. “From what I’ve seen or heard directly from them, they like cards and women and drink, nearly as much as they like knives and killing monsters.” Vanessa shrugged apologetically at the vampire. “Witchers are always out hunting.” She frowned and thought through every story that she’d ever listened to directly from a witcher himself. “Some like flowers? They’s always picking the posies around here.”

The vampire sighed. “We have gardens and succubi aplenty in my Lord’s castle.”

_Gardens and succubi_. Aplenty. Vanessa could already hear some tittering coming from the farthest end of the room.

“There are other things said,” she added hesitantly, a worried frown crumpling her face. “Dark things. But I did not hear them from the witchers themselves, and Gods know that rumors spread like mad and like as not have no relation to reality. I’d put no stock in such tales if I were you. People like a juicy bit of gossip more than they do nearly anything else. Listen only to someone who’s talked to a witcher.” 

Vanessa looked rather pointedly at the vampire. “Or you could just ask them plainly yourself.”

“It’s supposed to be a surprise,” the vampire said smoothly.

As if a whole bloody castle popping up in the mountains around their keep wasn’t surprise enough. Hells, though, maybe it wasn’t. Witchers were near unflappable. Maybe not even a damn demon castle showing up out of nowhere was enough to push them off kilter. But from what Palo said, the witchers didn’t know that the castle would show. They were just as concerned as the villagers. 

“A surprise, huh,” she said musingly. “Hrm…”

What the hell had her life even turned into that she was giving advice to a vampire on how to make a witcher happy. It was damn tempting to tell the creature to present the witcher with a hatchet and lay its neck on a convenient stump, no doubt any witcher would be thrilled for that easy opportunity. But that likely wouldn’t actually help here. 

She shook her head. “Start with the booze. See how that goes.”

The vampire nodded and she could swear he was making notes in his head. 

“How much per one witcher?”

“Far more than you think a single person could consume. They’ve stopped by here over the years, from time to time. I’ve have them nearly drink me dry and barely be tipsy.” She did a quick calculation in her head, and lifted up the jug of applejack. “At least ten of these for one of them. That might, maybe, be enough to get one good and sauced.”

The vampire looked at the jug, rubbed his chin and then turned to her.

“Give me a hundred of those, then.”

She blinked at him. “I have maybe forty in stock, and there won’t be more ‘til apple season this summer. This is a small town, lad. Though---” she looked around at the rest of the folk in the common room, all of which were listening in while also desperately trying to look like they weren’t, “---that seems to be changing, too. I’ve mead as well, and I try to keep more of the hard stuff around on the off chance that a witcher will stop by, but I’m afraid my supplies are a bit limited, what with winter.”

The vampire sighed.

“I will take everything you can sell me now and come back for more,” he reached into his pocket. “Order more from wherever you need.” He put another coin on the bartop. “There’s bound to be more in neighboring towns.”

“They might not be willing to sell what they got,” Vanessa said cautiously thinking of all the orders that already went out.

The vampire smirked.

“Why do you think I’m giving you the gold?”

Clever. Her neighbors might sell to her where they wouldn’t anyone else. Supplies would still be limited, given the time of year and the sudden influx of strangers in the area. 

She very quickly calculated how much coin it would cost to get everything the vampire wanted. After a moment or two, her mind stalled out at _a lot_. Not only that, but it wouldn’t be very smart for it to be known that Vanessa had a significant amount of wealth hidden in her inn. That was just asking to be robbed, especially given how many people were listening in right now.

But gold wasn’t the only thing that was useful.

“Turns out I make most of my booze. Now, come summer and fall, I can buy and harvest enough honey and apples to make quite a lot of hooch, if I know what to expect, selling wise. I’ll take some coin to shop around with our neighbors, but if you’ve supplies up at the castle we could barter for the hooch instead.”

She looked hopefully at him. 

“Supplies like what?” The vampire looked at the coin. “We have a lot of gold.” he was not trying to be subtle about his boasting. Then he suddenly looked out to the room. “Silver and gems too. The harpies are terrible magpies, they always pick through the dead armies.” The vampire’s lips twisted in disgust. “Wretched creatures. If somebody wants to try to steal from us, we are eagerly awaiting all comers. The guards would appreciate a snack from time to time.”

The guards actually seemed to perk up a little at this comment and there was a collective shudder around the room. As disturbing as the thought was, Vanessa almost wanted to snort in amusement. 

The one on the right turned to his buddy on the other side of the vampire and said something in a low, guttural language that sounded like bags of gravel being violently ground against each other. 

The other one responded in kind, the language so rough it almost hurt Vanessa’s ears. Then its lips pulled back, showing the rows of fangs, and it… chuckled? As horrible as it sounded, yes it was a laugh.

“If anyone takes a look at your city’s walls and decides _that_ is just the place to go looting, they damn well get what they deserve,” Vanessa said disapprovingly. “But Gods know there’s an idiot born every minute. As for supplies. Lumber we have aplenty at the moment. You said there were gardens. If you have orchards, I could make you liquor from the fruit, for a fee. Same with grains. Cloth, too, would trade well, as would metal ore…”

As tempting as it was to mention other foodstuffs, Vanessa was extremely leery about suggesting any kind of meat be given for trade. Who even knew what horror would be presented to her as eatable. 

“We have our own forges,” the vampire shrugged. “All the infernal heat is good for really.” Then he frowned. “Grains are boring so I doubt any fields will sprout, but orchards could be a possibility. I will ask our Steward if she wants to add some to the Castle.”

Vanessa hesitated a moment. “Would they not take time to grow? Fruit trees, err, the ones I know of in any case, all take three or four years to properly begin to produce.”

The vampire waved his hand.

“We could have them growing fruit tomorrow, provided the Steward or our Lord decided he wants them.”

That one statement alone was terrifically shocking. The sheer amount of power such a feat would take, Vanessa couldn’t imagine. She knew nothing of mages and magic, but logic told her that if any old mage could make the land bear food at any given time, then they would never pay so much for others to grow it for them. There would be no need for farmers at all, nor would the mages ever stop by taverns like hers. 

“As you say,” she said eventually. Her eyes were a touch wider than what was comfortable and she shook her head a little in awe. The feeling only lasted a moment, though, and then she shook it off. Then she put a finger on the second gold coin that the vampire had slid across the counter, but waited before pocketing it. “I’ll use this to start gathering up your order. It’ll take some days to head back and forth between neighbors. You talk to your steward and see what you can swing us for supplies, and I’ll see what I can get rustled up here for you in the meantime. Does that suit you?”

“That will work.” He nodded at her.

One of the guards spoke up then, the guttural sounds rolling off his lips easily. The vampire turned to him, eyebrows arched and then back to Vanessa.

“He says he hasn’t sensed many beasts of burden around. If you have trouble with delivering the goods send a runner. We will send one of the Mare to help.”

The Mare. That must be like the demon horse that Palo mentioned. Night the Mare. 

She nodded both to him and the guard, “That would indeed be a help. Thank you.”

If the guard had any kind of reaction to her thanks, Vanessa couldn’t tell what it was. Some tiny part of the back of her brain was still screaming about talking to demons, but the rest of her was quickly making plans on how she could acquire the right goods and how long it would take. There was always the possibility that this little event would cause her some loss of respect with the rest of the town. Right here and now, in front of a dozen witnesses, she conducted business with a monster. That generally was something that would cause a great deal of disdain among folks.

_Henselt already did so, though, and he’s ordered us to treat them in kind_, she thought fiercely. _We’re not some fools of the Eternal Flame, happy to starve to death for the sake of our ideals. And besides, the witchers have promised to look out for us. They’ll keep things in check._

“Where should I send the runner? Granted, us villagers don’t get much news, but last I heard, your city was locked up tight as a drum.”

That question made folks lean in a bit more obviously, especially the foreigners. 

The vampire looked at her for a moment, obviously taken aback, much like a person who had just realized they left the stove burning. Then he looked back to his guards and got shrugs in return.

“There’s an old road that the walls have cut through, down near where the river flows into our city,” the vampire said slowly. “We’ll make sure there’s a gate for you there.” Then he rubbed his chin again. “There will always be guards at it,” he mentioned to his own guards. “Just tell them the message, they will pass it through to those that need to know.” Then he seemed to remember something. “They don’t speak your tongues, but they understand you perfectly.”

Made sense, what with how the demon guards had reacted to their conversation.

“My thanks, m’lord,” she said with a nod of her head. “Anything else I can help you with?”

The vampire cast an eye over the people gathered as far away from him as possible and gave a small, mournful sigh.

“Sadly, no.”

Horror crept over her as she realized that the vampire was disappointed that he wouldn’t be able to eat any of them. Again, she fought down a slightly hysterical laugh. 

Of course.

What had they all even gotten into?

\--

“No,” Geralt said, leaning forward in the bed.

“Yes,” Matt said. The man looked smug, there was no doubt about it. Tired, but smug. 

Geralt was resting in bed, worn out after a long day of doctor’s tests. Per usual, Alucard was busy with work and Matt and Eskel had joined Geralt for snacks and cards. 

They were in the middle of a game called ‘poker’ when Eskel brought up the sparring session he had had with Matt a couple of days earlier. Apparently it had been quite a session.

So much so that every day since they’d found time to train together. Eskel came back to the bedroom after every session practically buzzing with excitement. For Eskel, anyways. He was kind of a taciturn person in general, but Geralt had known him for an age. He knew what it looked like when Eskel was dying to show off a new skill. 

Based on how exhausted Matt looked, the man was getting rather thoroughly worn out by Eskel’s eagerness. Little did he know that Eskel had obviously been taking it easy on him. 

They were taking breaks, after all.

Geralt looked to Eskel, his eyebrows raised.

“Really?”

Eskel nodded, vigorously.

“I mean, he showed me how to do it, several different ways even. Holy fuck, I learned a lot. But during that first go, he had me on my back in two minutes flat!” Eskel shook his head. “It was amazing. I’m serious, you need to join us as soon as you’re able to. You are gonna hurt in places you forgot existed.”

“...I feel I have missed an important development,” Dracula said from the open door to Alucard’s bedroom. His eyes were fixed on Matt with a terrible focus.

Matt practically jumped out of his skin at the sound of his voice. He'd probably too caught up in the conversation to keep an eye on the door. Dracula was impressively quiet, too. There hadn't been even a hint of a sound as the door opened.

Geralt was about to greet Dracula, but then he caught the expression on Eskel’s face, wide eyed and terrified. He paused, thinking back to what was the last thing they said.

…_had me on my back, amazing, hurt in places you forgot existed_…

Geralt was torn between the urge to place himself between Matt and the obviously incoming death, and put his hands on his face. Of course this was the thing Dracula had to come in on. Of course.

Dracula was dressed in his imposing all-black suit with black shirt, his dark hair only managing to highlight the sense of darkness and intimidation coming from him. The way he was watching Matt then, as if he was debating which part to rip off first, was not helping.

“Good evening...sir…” Matt’s voice trailed off as Dracula moved closer. He swallowed hard and Geralt could see him twitch and restrain himself from going for a weapon.

“So I am hearing,” Dracula said slowly and transferred his gaze to Eskel, pinning him in place.

In the meantime, Eskel was flailing a little, clearly struggling to keep his internal panic and outrage at bay. “Look--No. No, it’s not. This isn’t…” The words wouldn’t quite come out right, and his face turned beet red, so much so that the white lines of his scars showed up in sharp relief.

Now Geralt did actually cover his face with his hands. Per his regular fashion, Eskel completely lost the ability to speak coherently right at the most critical time.

He knew he should say something, just to help them all out. The problem was that Geralt was too busy trying not to die of laughter. He held it in, manfully he thought, but it was difficult. 

_Get your shit together_, Geralt thought to himself. _This is dangerous stuff. Dracula is offended, and Eskel can’t talk worth shit._

That little internal pep talk didn’t help one bit. 

“I’m serious, this is fine!” Eskel finally managed to get out. “You offered him! You wanted me to! You cannot possibly get mad at me, or him, for what you wanted to watch anyways!”

Geralt choked for real now. 

Did Eskel actually _want_ Matt to die?

“...Watch.” Dracula repeated slowly, dragging the word out.

Then Gabriel was beside Matt, moving soundlessly and almost too quickly, his head bending slightly towards Matt and nostrils flaring, very clearly taking in Matt’s scent.

_Oh no_.

Matt’s scent, which after days of fighting Eskel hand to hand would be very well entwined with the scent of Eskel’s sweat.

Dracula’s eyes narrowed even more as they slowly, dangerously, slid to Eskel and stayed there.

Wisely, Matt stayed still as a rabbit in sight of a fox.

“In the hospital,” Eskel said, his whole body as tight as a bowstring. “I said I wanted to fight Matt, you said you wanted to watch. You said you wanted to join too, but we all know how _that_ would have ended.” Now Eskel’s eyebrows crinkled in worry and guilt. “I know you said you wanted to watch us spar, but I didn’t think you’d mind so much if we practiced while you weren’t here.”

He hunched over a little now, looking both upset and anxious.

“...Spar,” Dracula said just as slowly, but without the deadly dangerous echo underlining his words.

Finally, Geralt managed to get himself under control. He nodded along with the conversation. “They were practicing hand to hand fighting. Given that witchers spend most of our time stabbing and skinning things, we don’t have nearly the hand to hand training he does. He’s been showing Eskel some of his techniques.”

Eskel gestured towards Geralt with both hands, glancing back and forth between them.

“Sparring,” Dracula said again, finally moving a little away from Matt. Geralt could see the bodyguard exhale in relief at the increased distance. “Not sex.” Dracula seemed to mostly say it for his own benefit. 

Matt’s face turned absolutely purple with embarrassment and his jaw dropped. That only lasted for a second, because he very quickly wiped a hand down his face and dragged it back into some semblance of normalcy. “Oh my god…” he muttered quietly.

If anything, Eskel just looked more unhappy. His arms were crossed tightly to his chest and his shoulders were hunched up. “_No_, not sex. I wouldn’t. Hell, I haven’t even been sleeping with the girls because I wanted to talk to you about it first, why would I go fuck Matt? _Especially_ when I’m not sure I even _like_ dicks!” Then he seemed to realize what he said and he winced. Hard. A long, pained sigh escaped him and he ducked his head. “Gods, why do I ever bother talking, this never works out for me.”

“I find it entertaining,” Dracula said after a brief pause. He sounded much more amused and less like he was about to murder somebody. “In my defence, it’s not often that you let other men put you on your back.” Now he was back to teasing.

Eskel puffed up immediately. 

“I didn’t _let_ him! Besides, it’s training. It happens.”

Matt cleared his throat and said, “In his defense, he picked up the techniques alarmingly quickly.”

Dracula hummed. “Now I’m really sad I missed it.”

Interestingly, Eskel stayed coiled up, tense and frowning. Something about the way he was holding himself set off a little flag in Geralt’s mind.

“You need to spend more time watching us train at Kaer Morhen then,” Eskel grumbled, still visibly distressed. “Vesemir routinely kicks our asses.”

That wasn’t completely true. Vesemir was the best at blade work, but the rest of them weren’t terrible. Their sparring sessions usually ended up being vicious and drawn out. 

“If this Vesemir guy is better than you are, I’m not sure if I’m interested or terrified to meet him,” Matt said ruefully, if a little strained. It looked like he was trying to keep the conversation light. From his lightning quick glance towards Dracula, that was probably because he was worried about Eskel taking the brunt of Dracula’s unhappiness. Geralt couldn’t figure out how to explain to him that Dracula wouldn’t lash out at those few people he cared about. Not in a way that Matt would believe, anyways. 

“He taught us bladework,” Geralt said, hoping to lighten the mood even more. “He’s very grumpy.”

“Like Eskel, then,” Dracula murmured.

Eskel glared at Dracula, as cross as a wet cat. This time he just kept his lips sealed tightly. Probably afraid to say anything, given how spectacularly he’d bungled so far. Or maybe he just didn’t want to add fuel to the fire. Geralt had to shake his head and used one hand to cover up the snicker bubbling out of him. That laugh caused Eskel’s poisonous glare to switch to Geralt.

“We worked on some knife fighting, too,” Matt said. His voice was casual and light, but there was still a coiled tension in his shoulders. “Hate to admit it, but I didn’t do nearly as well on that front. Most of my knife training is in disarms.”

“I remember disarms,” Geralt said. “I think.”

“No you don’t,” Eskel said wryly. “You really don’t. We learned a few, and most of them revolve around parries. Or just chopping off hands.”

“I mean, that is the easiest way to disarm your opponent,” Geralt snickered again.

“Ha fucking ha.” Eskel looked at him flatly, but Geralt could still see the twinkle of amusement in his eyes. 

“Oh god, chopping off hands. Really?” Matt muttered, and looked up at the ceiling for a moment.

“I mean, we were taught dis_arming_ after all.” Geralt’s snicker turned into a wide grin.

Eskel’s pissy expression twisted into a begrudging smirk. “It’s true. I _disarm_ people all the time.”

He still didn’t uncoil from his wound up position though. Eskel’s arms were crossed tight as ever, his hands shoved under his arms and his shoulders hunched up to his ears. Something was up.

Was he really that distraught at Dracula’s reaction? Or his own verbal fumble?

“I think that’s the worst pun I have ever heard.” Matt leveled an incredibly unamused look at both Eskel and Geralt. 

“No,” Eskel said gravely. “This is not the worst pun Geralt has ever said.”

For all that Matt’s sigh was soft, it was incredibly pained and heartfelt.

“I like Geralt’s puns,” Dracula defended.

“You would,” Eskel said. His hands were still tucked tightly under his arms. 

Dracula smiled, pleased, and came closer to Eskel and put his hand against Eskel’s neck and squeezed.

“I tend to like my witchers in all the forms they come in,” Dracula said quietly, sounding actually very pleased.

Again, Eskel’s face turned red, and he ducked his head down a little. Pleasure curled up in Geralt’s chest at the statement, and his grin softened into something a little more satisfied. He almost wanted to preen a little.

He loved that about Dracula, that easy acceptance. Alucard shared it, too. Geralt couldn’t remember the last time someone just accepted him for who and what he was, loved him for all his weaknesses and eccentricities. Other witchers understood; it was one of the reasons they all tended to winter together. 

Something about the way Dracula said _all forms_ stuck out in Geralt’s mind. He looked between them for a moment.

Eskel’s hands. 

He was still hiding them. Had he grown claws again? It made sense that he’d be a little shy about that around Matt. Gods only knew how he would explain it.

“You’re one of the few,” Eskel said a little glumly, head still downturned. To Geralt’s eyes it looked like he was leaning slightly towards Dracula’s hand, though.

“I find you all beyond cute,” Dracula affirmed his affection again. “Even when you are all stitched up to hell and back,” he added, looking balefully at Geralt.

“I’m getting better,” Geralt said. He wanted to sound defensive, but he was too pleased with his progress. Today’s doctor’s appointments had been exhausting, but he was extremely excited with their analysis. “No more stitches, no more staples.” He waved a hand at his still-bandaged torso.

“You smell better, too,” Eskel said, looking up at him. He leaned a little more obviously into Dracula’s hand as he said it, and some of the tension left his shoulders. “I finally can’t smell the toxicity on you.”

“I’m feeling better,” Geralt admitted. He looked at Dracula from under his eyelashes. “You staying long this time?”

“As long as needed. I did what I set out to do.”

Matt had kept quiet during this exchange, his face a study of pleasant blankness. 

Both Eskel and Geralt looked up sharply to Dracula at that, though. 

“Yen left too quickly to give me the details about what she found out,” Geralt said. 

“She brought me names of the people responsible for your attack,” Dracula said easily, leaving Eskel to go and sprawl out on his favored chair, satisfaction radiating out of him like a tangible scent in the air.

“Who?” Geralt asked, fiercely interested. 

“Sigismund Dijkstra,” Dracula said, putting one finger up.

“Motherfucker.” Geralt shook his head. “That weaselly bastard.”

He had known that Dijkstra would cause him problems eventually. He'd just known it.

“Friedrich var Steingard,” Dracula put up another finger, clearly counting out. 

Geralt tilted his head in confusion, but Eskel twitched in place. 

“Who the fuck is that?” Geralt asked, mystified.

“Steingard,” Eskel said hoarsely. “Any relation to…”

“Yes,” Dracula nodded. “Extended family. Though that incident had nothing to do with this. Just a happy coincidence.” Dracula shook his head. “The deviancy seems to run in the family.”

Figured. Geralt shook his head. Eskel snorted in bitter amusement.

“Anybody else?” Geralt asked, sensing that there was still something Dracula had to say.

Dracula grimaced.

“I didn’t manage to hunt down the last one. I only got the alias--Centher. He’s apparently an Nilfgaardian spy. Sadly, without the real name I couldn’t have him hunted down.”

“Nilfgaard, huh.” Geralt tapped his fingers. “I’m a little surprised Emhyr approved it. That bastard hates me, sure, with a burning passion. But he knows Ciri would never speak to him again if I got killed by his spies.”

“Only if it looked like you got killed by his spies,” Eskel added darkly. “He’s just pissy because he had to pay up. No price was too much when he was half hedgehog during daylight hours, but now that he’s figured out he hasn’t sired a single fucking heir since...now he’s all ‘Ciri, my precious’.” If Eskel sounded annoyed, Geralt couldn’t blame him. 

“Wait, this guy is Ciri’s father?” Matt asked. He looked at Geralt in confusion. “I thought you said she could visit her family whenever she wanted? And didn’t you say that her parents were dead?” 

“Yeah, if she wanted to,” Geralt said with a shrug. “But Emhyr is a ruthless, land-hungry asshole.” Then he rolled his eyes. “And Emhyr faked his death. He was only living under the previous name because he was cursed anyways. Once it was lifted, he was free to go back to his kingdom.”

“And start endless fucking wars,” Eskel grumbled. “Starting with Cintra, which was where Ciri was, with her grandmother. He’s been bound and determined to take the north ever since--regardless of the fact that Ciri made it clear that he could go take a dive into a well.”

Now Matt was looking even more confused, his eyes narrowed as he glanced back and forth between Eskel and Geralt. 

Shit, they had probably said too much. Geralt still wasn’t used to how quickly information traveled in this world. Even the casual worker and day laborer had a rough understanding of every major continent in their world, with pictures and articles about who lived there at the fingertips.

“So Ciri doesn’t want to see him?” Dracula asked speculatively. 

Geralt shrugged. “She’s met him.” Then he sighed and shook his head. “It’s up to her. If she wanted to go be a courtier…” He grimaced. “She could. She’d probably be good at it, she’s wickedly smart. I’d support her in what little way I could. But Emhyr wants an heir, a _pawn_.” A small, rueful smile tugged at Geralt’s lips. “And Ciri said she’d rather slum it with us lowly witchers.”

He could never decide how to feel about that. Mostly, he was pleased, so damn pleased that Ciri still wanted to spend time with him and the rest of their little family. Part of him always wondered if she wouldn’t be better off as a princess, though. 

Right from the start, she knew she was his Child of Surprise, and that one day Geralt would show up and take her off to train her to be a witcher. Between the lack of trials and her manifestation of magical powers, things had taken a different turn. But still she seemed happy enough following her own version of the Path. 

The advantages, the power and wealth, that being Emhyr’s heir would bring her were substantial, though. It would be a hard life, in its own way. Lonely. Dangerous, too, given the cutthroat nature of politics. But she would never want for food or clothing. She’d be surrounded by pleasure and luxury for the rest of her life, if she wanted to be. Every whim, no matter how minor, would be catered to.

“She has no interest in ruling?” Dracula asked, one eyebrow raised. “Yet she still dabbles in politics. Enough that she was confident of finding the names of those who organized the attack on you.”

Geralt shrugged. “I’m not quite sure if it’s the confined life of a royal she doesn’t want, the trappings of a high court, or if she just really dislikes Emhyr. He’s very easy to dislike. All the gold in all the world wouldn’t be enough to pay me to spend the rest of my life close to him.”

“Hmmmm.” Dracula rubbed his goatee with his thumb. 

“Hmmmm?” Geralt said, narrowing his eyes. That was Dracula’s thinking look. His _scheming_ look. 

“What?” Dracula asked, all wide eyed and innocent. 

Geralt didn’t buy it for a second. 

But he did firmly believe that whatever Dracula was thinking of, he only had Ciri’s best interests at heart. So as suspicious as he was, he tempered that with faith.

“She is young, though,” Dracula said. “Not at the age where one is sure of where they want their future to go.”

“True. She’ll live a long time too, because of her bloodline.” Geralt almost brought up her elvish heritage, but then stopped right before mentioning it. He knew that this world didn’t seem to have elves or dwarves or any of the other nonhuman races, and Matt was still intently listening. “There’s a fair bit of...superstition around that. Very little of it good. People keep trying to take advantage.”

As the last bearer of the Elder Blood, Ciri was the focus of a great deal of prophecy. If anything, prophecies only seemed to spout off portents of doom. It had already caused a number of issues, not the least of which were several attempts on Ciri’s life.

“All she needs is a bit of proper…marketing and advertising and all of those could be turned into advantages.” Dracula shrugged. “It’s just interesting,” he said innocently. “The connections she has.”

Geralt snorted. Marketing and advertising, indeed. Propaganda, more like. 

He shook his head. They’d been spending too much time in this world, listening to Alucard and John talk shop.

“That’s not a thing witchers are very good at. Kaer Morhen can attest to that.” Geralt shrugged.

“Hmm,” Dracula hummed. “She is not really a witcher, is she?”

That made Geralt pause and choose his words. “...At the moment, no. Even though the trials are long past, there have been a few, a very few, students since that have tried to take on the mantle without the enhancements. If she ever wanted to follow the Path…” He looked at Dracula. Whatever he was trying to express, he couldn’t quite put a name to it. Some kind of peace, maybe. Acceptance. “We’d let her take the name and give her a medallion. If she chose it, she could be one of us.”

“Do you want her to?” Dracula asked, voice low. “As far as I can see, Witcher’s path is a lonely one that ends usually in a lonely death.” He paused, obviously weighing his words. “She is a woman, a healthy one. She could have children one day.”

Now Geralt smiled, and there was more than a hint of bittersweetness to it. “The Path wants to be walked. Every witcher knows it, feels it in their bones. I only want her to be happy. If she thinks that being a witcher is where her life will find completeness, then I’ll be pleased she found her calling. I’d worry, but it’s her choice.”

Dracula hummed again, but Geralt could tell he didn’t like the answer Geralt gave. Uncharacteristically, he didn’t seem like he wanted to debate the point. On the one hand, it wasn’t Dracula’s problem, so maybe he just didn’t care. On the other, Geralt worried that Dracula might just bypass _arguing_ for the sake of _doing_.

“Children…” Geralt started, and then paused to struggle for a moment. “It’s never an option for us, not really. But you’re right, it could be for her. So far she hasn’t chosen our Path, and I am just as pleased by that as I would be if she did.”

“I think there is a risk,” Dracula said gently, “that if she only looks at you as a role model, she might disregard things that you do not consider available for you. Not because she doesn't want them, but because she thinks you would disapprove on some level.” Dracula sighed. “I’ve seen it happen, children doing what they thought their cherished parents would approve of the most.”

That made Geralt frown. He leaned back a little into the pillows on the bed and tapped his fingers. “She’s got Yen and Triss too, but. Well. Their kind are more like witchers than they care to admit. More driven by power than protection, but just as solitary.” He hummed to himself. “I thought I made it clear to her that I just want her to be happy, whatever that ends up looking like. She’s had no interest in mates, not even in passing.” 

Dracula raised his eyebrows at that and then pointedly looked at Matt.

“I know,” Geralt said, eyes wide. “This is the first time. You, sir,” he pointed at Matt, “are extremely lucky I don’t tether you to the floor just to keep you in range.”

Matt just looked at him, completely unimpressed. “I would object, and I think Ciri would, too.”

“Reminding her that there are other choices than the Path, every so often, can’t hurt,” Dracula said, utterly ignoring Matt.

“I thought I’d been clear on that, but…” Geralt shrugged and grimaced. “I’ll make sure she knows.” 

“She loves you,” Dracula said. “But more than that, she truly respects and looks up to you. Not all parents manage to have that good a relationship with their kids.”

“I am ridiculously lucky.” Pride filled Geralt up as he thought about Ciri, how smart and accomplished she was. 

“It has nothing to do with luck. You are getting back what you gave.” Dracula shrugged.

Geralt shook his head. “That’s not what I mean. I mean I am ridiculously lucky that she’s in my life. That I haven’t died yet, that she hasn’t been killed or kidnapped or stolen or slaved away, despite all the attempts. That we even had this much time already to spend together. How could I not do everything possible to make sure she’s as prepared as she can be? Even safety is too much to ask, our lives are too dangerous. I’m lucky that whatever crazy bullshit me and the rest of us managed to pull together was enough to give her a stable foundation to grow on. I’m very, very lucky that any of this has worked at all.”

“Lambert was a Child of Surprise, too,” Eskel added. “And he has always hated being forced onto the Path. None of us wanted that for Ciri.”

“Lambert got a very bad deal, yeah.” Geralt remembered what Lambert had said about his past, about a father that beat the shit out of him and his mother, how they prayed for him to die and about how one day he almost did, only a passing witcher saved him, demanding the first thing his father saw when he came back home in payment. It happened to be Lambert. His life had been payment for the life of a hated and abusive parent. That was the reason for his anger, the bitterness. It wasn't even about being a witcher, but the unfairness of the trade. Geralt didn’t remember his life before the witcher keep; neither did Eskel. He wondered if he would be as bitter about it if he did have memories of a life before. “I think he would be the first to slit our throats in our sleep if we ever tried pressuring Ciri into being a witcher.”

Eskel nodded. “Without a doubt.”

“Why?” Matt asked. “I’m assuming you both are being literal. That’s a pretty...strong reaction to some parental pressure.”

“Child of Surprise means Lambert himself was a payment for a witcher saving his father’s life,” Geralt explained. “The thing is, the man was a fucking piece of shit that deserved to die and Lambert definitely wanted him dead. Suddenly being forced to become a witcher in payment for that bastard’s worthless skin was enough to make Lambert pretty volatile about the subject.”

“And it’s not like the training is easy,” Eskel added. “You’ve heard us talk about it. Lots of kids just die. Horribly.”

“Lambert never accepted that it was the best way to conduct the training. He and Vesemir still butt heads about it, even if the school is all but dead already.” Geralt shrugged a little. Things had calmed down a little on that front over the years, but the disagreement was a longstanding one.

“It’s slavery,” Matt said flatly. “Of children.”

“Of a type, perhaps,” Eskel said. 

“Once the mutations are done, there’s no other choice for us anyway. We are too different after that, so…” Geralt said.

“And after the training is finished, whoever lives is free to hunt as they want. Do whatever they want, really. But by that point, the hunt is too ingrained.” A far off look came into Eskel’s eyes and Geralt found himself struggling to stay present as well. 

He thought about how often he was out on the Path and something would come up, the telltale sign of a monster or the distant sound of crying. As a witcher, he had the skill and the power to intervene, or to simply leave. No country’s laws confined them, no religious morality. Only the code of _always get paid_. Geralt often chose to meddle, to get involved and save as many people as he could, but not all witchers did so. They killed and looted and wandered wherever people would tolerate them.

The Path was hard, and all witchers were doomed to an early grave. It was as freeing as it was binding. They could do whatever their skill allowed them to, but they were also shunned by the vast majority of people they met. Killing was all they were good for.

“Lambert is an amazingly skilled witcher,” Geralt said. “But I think, if given half a chance, he would probably prefer being anything else.”

“Trevor could find him something else to do,” Matt said. “He doesn’t have to stay in that life if he doesn’t want to.”

“Matt. Look at us.” Eskel pointed his chin to Geralt, but kept his eyes on Matt. “Between the eyes, the scars, the inability to have children, and the fact we don’t age the way normal humans do, people always point us out as freaks. They pray to their gods when they see us, spit at us and more than half the time refuse us service even if the next day they come up begging for help with some beastie or other. Being a witcher is the only thing we _can_ do long term.”

“That’s not even taking into account all the training,” Geralt added. “It is incredibly difficult to hold back the urge to step in and stab a problem into submission.”

Eskle snorted in amusement at the wording, but nodded nonetheless.

Matt did not look happy, but also like he kind of understood. There was a twist to his lips, a certain slump to his shoulders that indicated empathy to some degree, empathy that came from shared experiences. He had been a soldier once. He probably knew what that need to act felt like.

“I can take in all of you wolves,” Dracula said from his chair. “Witchering optional. I bet I could find you something to do at my place.”

Geralt leered at him. “Well I know what I want to do at your place, but I’m not sure Lambert would be interested.” 

Dracula shrugged.

“There’s always the chasing down of the escapees from the dungeon or general peacekeeping to be done if he feels the need to slice and dice some things. With Orlaith running things there will probably be a whole set of new positions that need to be filled anyway. And one thing I do not lack is gold to pay for services rendered.”

An interesting offer, and one that Geralt wasn’t sure how Lambert would react to. “You’ll have to take it up with him. He spends a lot of time out on the Path alone. I mean, we all do, but him more so than the rest of us.”

Dracula smiled suddenly. “I bet I could hunt him down if I wanted to.”

For whatever reason, that made Eskel blanch a little. “Probably smarter just to wait for him to show back up to Kaer Morhen. He circles by a little more often now that Iga and Eyra have taken up residence.”

Dracula hummed, but did not deign to respond. Geralt took it to mean that Dracula would hunt Lambert down and enjoy every moment of it. Briefly, he felt guilty for it, for bringing this onto his friends, but then he thought of a pleased Dracula coming to find him and decided Lambert would survive.

“What did you do with Steingard and Dijkstra?” Eskel asked quietly, watching Dracula from the corner of his eye.

“I made them my guests,” Dracula purred, so pleased that his satisfaction practically rolled off of him in waves. “Indefinitely.”

Matt looked at Dracula, his face carefully blank. Geralt could tell he didn’t like the implications. Geralt, on the other hand, loved them. As much as he tended not to take attempts on his life seriously, something about this one, or maybe how close to succeeding it came, made things feel different.

It took him a moment to realize: it was because this time around he had something he wanted to live for.

“You let them live?” Eskel asked, sounding fairly surprised.

Dracula turned to look at him, eyes a banked red.

“Of course. Death is something both of them desire by now, and this is the reason why they won’t have it.”

“I shouldn’t be listening to this,” Matt said mildly, his face still not expressing anything but blank politeness.

Geralt tilted his head a little and looked at Matt. “Probably not, but for different reasons than you think. None of this could possibly come back to bite _you_.” Then he thought about it and frowned a little. “It would be very, very unlikely.”

Something flashed across Matt’s face, too quickly for Geralt to get a handle on it, and then he was back to his blank politeness. “If a law enforcement agent asks me any pointed questions, I am bound by law to answer honestly.”

“Nobody will ever ask you a question about me,” Dracula said with a negligent wave of his hand.

Matt slid his gaze over to Dracula. “I am aware of that. But they don’t have to ask about you in particular. The inquiry doesn’t have to be so specific. All an agent would have to ask would be, ‘are you aware of or have you heard of any illegal activity involving the Belmonts'. That would be enough.” He shrugged minutely. “It would be a fishing expedition, and Trevor would have his lawyers all over it, but it is possible. The more I hear of this, whatever this is, the more liability there is.”

“Nothing we’ve spoken of even happened in this country,” Geralt said with a frown. 

“Which is the only reason I have any plausible deniability. I’m not sure where any of this is taking place, so I can’t say if it’s legal or not.” The utter blandness in the way Matt said that told Geralt just how little Matt believed they were within the bounds of law. 

“What I do in my realm is completely...legal,” Dracula said with a barely visible smirk. The amusement in his voice was thick and his eyes crinkled up a little. Both Geralt and Eskel snorted in laughter. 

“It would be, wouldn’t it,” Eskel said with a roll of his eyes.

“Those people you were talking about didn’t start out in your lands,” Matt pointed out. “And kidnapping is at least ostensibly illegal in every country I know of.”

“Consider it _extradition_ of a wanted criminal.” Now Dracula’s lips tugged into a slightly wider smile.

Matt stared at him a moment, one eyebrow very slightly raised, eloquently getting across his skepticism without overstating it. “That’s very good to know.” He sounded completely bland and neutral. It reminded Geralt a lot of a soldier accepting an utterly bullshit order from a superior officer that they couldn’t afford to offend.

Given that Geralt knew how much Dracula creeped Matt out, the insolence was a little impressive. The man managed to toe the line of politeness while still giving the impression that he was unimpressed, but not so much as to actually be called out on it.

“Trevor really did pick well with you,” Eskel said. A tiny smirk tugged at his lips and he shook his head a little. “You are a good fit. Ruthless enough to get the job done but moral enough to want to do it right.”

Matt looked at Eskel, his face kept carefully blank.

“Is it not what you would have done?” he asked lightly.

“No,” Eskel said with surprising frankness. “I would care to do the job fast and permanent. If you want morals, go with Geralt.” He side-eyed Geralt with obvious amusement. 

Geralt just stared flatly at him. “Morals. Really? A witcher?”

“I mean, Wolves in general are a little nicer than most, and you’re the nicest of us.” Eskel shrugged a little. The movement looked somewhat awkward, given how his arms were still crossed and hands hidden. He had to be hiding claws. Eskel would hate to keep his hands so locked up like that, even in a secure place like this.

“I suppose when you look at it that way…” Geralt mused, and rubbed his chin with his thumb. He thought about how often he killed people. Bandits, criminals, were easy to explain away. But he also killed those who attacked him, which ranged from righteous people of faith to law enforcement to idiot pickpockets. 

Sometimes he killed to protect others, too. These days, it was just as likely for the menacing party to be royally sanctioned officers as it was for them to be roaming undead.

He shook his head and a feral grin spread across his face. “I hunt monsters. In whatever form they come, human or not.”

“Vesemir had some choice words to say about it. _I hunt monsters_!” Eskel made his voice go lower when he said those last words.

“Shuddup,” Geralt groaned and rolled his eyes. “Vesemir is all about the job. Now there’s a good example of morality. The killing only happens if he gets paid.”

“Vesemir doesn’t care about morality,” Eskel laughed. “I think the word alone gives him hives. He only cares about the Path.”

After a momentary pause, Geralt looked at Eskel earnestly. “Do you think it’s us that are defective? We...I don’t know. Care more, I suppose, than most witchers.”

Matt just stared at them, his jaw slightly open. “You care _more_.”

Geralt grimaced a little and nodded. “It is _very_ hard not to stab my problems to death. And other people’s problems.”

“Mostly other people’s problems,” Eskel added. 

“I think Lambert doesn’t have that issue,” Geralt mused.

“He stabs all the problems, especially his own.” Eskel agreed.

“Personally, I like tearing them apart,” Dracula interjected in a slow, thoughtful voice. “With my hands. Seems somewhat more satisfying.”

“You’ve got the hands for it,” Geralt said with a nod, thinking of the claws. A slow smile curled across his face as he pictured those claws gently prickling across his skin. “Very nice hands.”

Eskel glanced away and hunched down a little farther. “Gotta say, sometimes that does have appeal,” he grumbled quietly.

Very suspicious.

“Nothing quite like a solid beheading though,” Geralt added.

“Too fast,” Dracula waved it off with a frown. “They won't even have the time to properly fear you.”

“So much easier to cut off the useful parts though. Eyes, blood, bone, hide. And then you have a nice, clean head for a trophy. Best way to get paid,” Geralt said sagely. “Way less clean up, too. I mean, if you cut right you don’t get doused. You might not need to worry about cleaning up after being doused with buckets of blood, but it’s hell to get out of chainmail.”

He had a specific little brush for it, in fact, though he only got around to using it once a week at best. He was usually too busy to give his armor a thorough cleaning any more often than that.

Matt had gone back to staring at them, eyes slightly wide but face as blank as could be.

“I will always help you with the washing,” Dracula offered with a smirk. “Get all the little crevices that are hard to reach.”

For some reason, this made Eskel turn absolutely beet red. 

Geralt had to grin, though. “You’ve got such clever hands, too. Perfect for fitting into all those...small spaces.”

“Oh gods,” Eskel groaned, exasperated. “Stop. Please stop.”

“But it’s true!” Geralt said innocently. “There have been a number of times I’ve come back from a hunt and needed cleaning. And his castle has the best baths. Perfect for both relaxation and more vigorous scrubbing.”

Matt’s eyebrows were steadily inching upwards at Geralt’s teasing.

It was probably a little mean to tease Eskel like this, but for the first time in days and days, Geralt was really feeling better. And it was very nice to have Dracula flirt with him again.

“I swear to the gods, I have not had enough to drink to listen to this,” Eskel said quietly, obviously trying to melt into his chair. The blushes covering his face were so bright he had to feel sunburned.

“An excellent idea. I could use a drink, too,” Dracula added.

“How about I go find something for you two to drink,” Matt said, standing up. “I’ll make sure food is on its way too.”

“Knock before you enter,” Geralt said, not taking his eyes off of Dracula. He’d missed the sight of his naked chest, with those muscles that looked powerful enough to bench press a horse. He wanted to touch and to lick. He wanted to talk Dracula into drinking from him, maybe even sharing some power. He definitely felt well enough for it. The sour taste of overdosing on potions had finally receded from the back of his mouth.

Matt headed out without another word. Even though he looked calm as ever, he moved just a touch faster than he normally would. 

The moment the door shut behind him, Geralt dissolved into snickers. 

“Gods, that poor man,” he wheezed. Then he took a breath and rubbed his mouth, still smiling.

Eskel grimaced and let his hands fall from their tight fit under his arms, holding them up.

Sure enough, he’d grown claws. Long, black, curved claws that graced each fingertip. They looked sharp as hell and twice as wicked.

“Fuck,” Eskel said, low and rough. The expression on his face was a strange mix of pained and appreciative, and he flexed his fingers a little. 

Dracula…cooed. Geralt couldn’t describe it any differently. It was a happy little coo. He was out of his chair and approaching Eskel in a heartbeat.

“Impressive,” Geralt said. They were, too. He knew exactly how much damage claws like that could cause. “A little inconvenient, though.”

“Very,” Eskel said, resigned. “Wouldn’t be so bad if I could fucking figure out how to control it.” He flexed his hands again, turning them over to watch how the claws moved.

“Give me.” Dracula was beside Eskel and making grabby motions at him, eyes fixed on the claws.

Eskel looked at him and sighed unhappily. “You’re just going to pull them.”

“Yes,” Dracula said simply, “but I will also make them go away,” he cajoled. “Eventually.”

The look he got from Eskel was long and measuring.

“It’s not that bad, is it?” Geralt said, trying to lighten Eskel’s mood. 

Eskel had a conflicted expression on his face. Dracula’s anticipatory hovering probably wasn’t helping.

“The pulling is...startling,” Eskel said finally. “Like being prodded with a stick.”

“But you make the best noises,” Dracula said. “And look at them, they’re so cute.” He waved his fingers at Eskel, urging him to give up his hands. 

“Gods,” Geralt said, trying not to laugh. “Too bad Alucard isn’t here to see this.”

Eskel shot him a sharp look. “Traitor,” he grumbled. 

That must have been enough to encourage him to give in, because he held out his hands to Dracula. Slowly. Reluctantly. Almost wincing, even. But he did it.

Dracula cooed again as he took the hands and turned them over to stare at the curved claws. Gods, but Eskel would be able to tear out chunks of flesh with those. And climb. Geralt was almost envious. 

Then he thought about the fact that he himself had a much closer connection to both Dracula and Alucard, yet no side effects except the ramped up Igni had appeared. He knew he would have to broach the topic with Dracula eventually, because something about this whole lack of side effects was fishy.

As Dracula carefully examined the claws, Geralt could see Eskel start to relax, just a tiny bit. His shoulders loosened up a little and he worked his hands open and closed while Dracula trailed his own fingers up and down the curve of each talon. Then lower, onto the fingers proper, all but massaging them before he withdrew and caught hold of a claw.

He _tugged_.

Eskel nearly jumped out of his skin and squeaked. He _squeaked_. 

“Fuck!” Eskel said, reflexively tugging on his hands.

Dracula was still cooing at him, looking as pleased as a cat with his mouth full of a still breathing canary.

“Shh, shhh,” he said as he pushed at the claw. Geralt watched with amazement at how easily it sank into Eskel’s flesh, leaving just a normal finger behind. 

“One down,” Dracula said with the unmistakable air of _see?_ “Nine to go!”

The look Eskel gave him was utterly pathetic. But he didn’t take back his hands. Probably because he didn’t have a choice.

For the next several minutes, Geralt watched Eskel make the most incredible sounds as Dracula went through his claws one by one. He squirmed and squeaked, blushed and yelped, providing quite a show. It might have been a bit mean, but Geralt could definitely see why Dracula loved doing this to him. It was entertaining as hell. For all his teasing, Dracula never pulled more than once on a single claw before making them go away. He was clearly trying not to push Eskel beyond what he could take. 

When the last claw had been pushed away, Eskel sighed in relief and sagged a little into the chair. He didn’t take his hands back, though.

“I really need to figure out how to make this work,” Eskel said. “What happens if they come out while I’m out on the Path? Running back to Kaer Morhen at odd times is gonna get old very, very quick.”

“You will learn how to control them soon enough, either how to stop the change or how to revert it.” Dracula shrugged. “In the meantime I’m going to enjoy myself.”

Geralt had to laugh. “Clearly. They are impressive, though,” he said to Eskel. He didn’t like how dismayed Eskel looked. It made him wonder just how unsettled he was from whatever was going on with the bond with Alucard. “That’s bound to come in handy at some point. No need to worry about ever being completely without weapons again.”

“There is that,” Eskel agreed.

“Just imagine how deep those babies can go,” Geralt said, thinking of all the times he was forced to give up his weapons to go see one lord or another.

“They’ll work great with the stuff I’ve been learning from Matt, too.” Now Eskel perked up a little.

Dracula was still holding on to his hands, kneading the palms a little. With every little movement, Eskel relaxed a touch more. 

It was curious to watch. Partially because of how Dracula was so careful with Eskel, and partially because of how much Eskel seemed to melt into it. 

Geralt couldn’t find it in himself to be annoyed at all. It had been a very difficult week, and he’d been worried about how Eskel was coping. His brother wasn’t a very open person, and had a tendency to ignore his own hurts. Yet here he was accepting and obviously enjoying Dracula’s affection. It was just as nice to see Dracula care for someone else. He’d told Geralt more than once that he was incapable of softer emotions, but this right here gave the lie to those words.

It made him wonder if Eskel and Dracula ever really would become lovers. To his own vast surprise, he found that he kind of hoped so. It would probably be good for both of them.

A minute or two slipped by as Dracula worked Eskel’s hands over and Eskel began looking more like a puddle than a man. 

“You two could always join me on the bed if you wanted to cuddle,” Geralt said finally, once it became clear that neither Dracula nor Eskel had plans to move any time soon.

Eskel seemed to realize he was just slowly melting under Dracula’s touch and straightened, tugging his hands away from Dracula. Geralt almost felt as disappointed as Dracula looked; it was a rare thing to see Eskel so at ease.

“No. No,” Eskel said, shaking his head as if trying to brush off the obvious pleasure. “Matt will be back soon,” then he gestured between Dracula and Geralt, “and you two probably want to spend more time together.”

Dracula looked to Geralt, his red eyes sliding very slowly from the top of his head to his feet.

“I think you are ready to take my power now,” Dracula said after a moment. Geralt shivered at the sound of his voice, the low rasp of it.

“Should I leave now and send up Alucard?” Eskel asked.

“You can stay if you want,” Dracula said, not taking his eyes from Geralt.

There was a surprisingly long pause. Long enough that Geralt raised his eyebrows at Eskel. 

Eskel was looking back and forth between Dracula and Geralt, clearly considering the offer. After another moment, he shook his head and stood up. “No. I’ll go get Alucard.” He paused for a moment longer and then stepped into Dracula’s space, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you for the help with my claws,” he said softly.

Dracula turned to Eskel, his eyes soft. Hell, his whole body was radiating softness. Geralt had to bite his cheek to stop himself from commenting on the expression he was wearing right this moment.

Dracula raised his hand and put it on Eskel’s neck, a move that was both possessive and comforting. He squeezed carefully.

“My pleasure.”

That made a small smile stretch across Eskel’s face. After a moment, it turned a little more rueful. “Yeah, you sure get a kick out of them.” He tightened his grip on Dracula’s shoulder.

“I find you delightful in general,” Dracula admitted with a smile on his face. Geralt bit harder on the inside of his cheek. Dracula was definitely adoring towards Eskel, even if his adoration tended to be a little rough at times.

Eskel snorted and shook his head. “Gods only know why.” For a second or two he let his eyes fall shut and he leaned into the hand on his neck. Then he took a step back, slipping out of Dracula’s grip. “I’ll send up Alucard and let him know what to expect.” He looked at Geralt. “If you need food or something, text me. Otherwise I’m going to assume you three will be busy here for the next day or so.”

“Send the food now,” Geralt replied quickly. “Stuff that will keep well. No sense in interrupting once we’re underway.”

Dracula chuckled but didn’t contradict Geralt.

“Do you like this suit?” Dracula asked suddenly, indicating the black on black clothes he was wearing.

“Yes,” Geralt confirmed, swallowing hard. He could tell where this was going and he liked that idea. A lot.

From the corner of his eye he saw Eskel wrinkle his nose.

“I better go before I see more than I want to,” he muttered, turning away.

Dracula only hummed and summoned his own claws. He put one knee on the edge of the bed. “Don’t bother to strip. I have it handled.”

Geralt swallowed hard, his body already buzzing with excitement. 

Distantly, he heard the door open and shut, but he didn’t pay it any mind. All of his focus was on Dracula’s approach.

Dracula dragged the blankets away from his body slowly, and pushed it carelessly aside as he knelt on the bed. Then he wrapped his hands around Geralt’s legs and pulled, making Geralt slide down until he was flat on his back.

The casual strength that Dracula could bring to bear was incredibly sexy. It was obvious that moving Geralt around by force took absolutely no effort at all, and Geralt couldn’t help but lick his lips in anticipation. Fuck, but he’d missed this. Missed the way Dracula could just _own_ him.

Dracula’s eyes slid from Geralt’s soft, long sleeved shirt to his soft pants.

“I hope you are not overly attached to these clothes?”

“I’d let you cut off my favorite armor right now,” Geralt said, voice rough. “These,” he shook his head and gestured towards his shirt. “Don’t care. Not even a little.”

“Good,” Dracula rumbled.

He reached up his hand, flattening it over Geralt’s belly and slowly, exquisitely, dragging it up until he could hook his claws under the neckline. Then he cut the material, his claws parting it as if it was made from mist and not solid threads. Geralt licked his lips at the way his chest was exposed, showing off the bandages and deep bruises that hadn’t gone away yet. Dracula’s eyes tracked them, the bandages and the bruising that spilled from under them, the fresh pink scars, some still with scabs present where the skin didn’t heal perfectly or where the tubes draining various liquids from his body used to be.

That heavy gaze made Geralt feel suddenly exposed, more so than if he were just naked. He felt weak, so very weak. It wasn’t about physical strength; his stamina had slowly been coming back to him, even with all the wounds. It was about vulnerability. There was something powerful about showing his still-hurt body to Dracula. Nerves fluttered in his stomach and he looked up to Dracula, waiting to see his reaction. 

Dracula shifted on his knees, spreading them and gaining more stability as he got rid of the last fragments of Geralt’s shirt. Geralt could feel a faint trickle of their touch along his shoulders and arms, over his ribs as Dracula shredded the last of it. 

That left Geralt’s chest and shoulder wrapped up in all the bandages. Dracula let the tips of his claws rest on the bandages and looked Geralt in the eyes.

“I don’t think we will need those anymore,” Dracula said, and let his claws catch on the bandages. When he pulled, Geralt could hear the sound the cotton made as it gave under the wickedly sharp claws.

A deep shiver raced through Geralt’s body. Partially because of the act of undressing, and partially because of the faint tickle of claws against his skin. That last sensation alone brought up the memory of a hundred wonderful nights in Dracula’s arms, causing his already-interested body to tighten just a little bit more. He had to take a breath just to make sure he didn’t stress anything too badly, but it was a shaky breath at best.

The skin of his chest, covered by the tight bandages for so long, was unbearably sensitive. The air tickled, making his skin prickle and shiver. Dracula just watched, taking in every bruise, every healing cut and scar. With all the bandaging gone and thrown away from the bed, Geralt’s chest was exposed in its whole gruesome glory.

He had lost a lot of muscle definition, his body all but eating itself to fuel the healing. The scars were also more disturbing than usual. They weren’t the flow of claws or teeth he was used to, or even random cuts from a sword. They were a deliberate, dispassionate network of cuts made with calm premeditation and purpose. He knew the doctors had to cut him open to get at the damaged bits inside, but the scars they left in the wake of their efforts looked more unsettling than any he had before.

Geralt looked down at himself and held back a pained wince. Fuck, but he looked ruined. Even with Dracula’s power, these marks would take a damn long time to disappear. He was struck all over again by how desperate his situation had been. How close he had come to leaving Dracula and Alucard alone.

“I’m so sorry,” Geralt said softly, still looking at the massive cut down the center of his chest. A stinging built up in his eyes and he blinked it away. “I shouldn’t have cut things so close. I wasn’t good enough to…to make it work, and I almost fucking died on you both. I didn’t mean to almost leave you alone.”

A terrible expression came over Dracula’s face.

“You will not do it again,” he stated, more of an order than a plea. “You will ask for help as soon as things start to look bad.”

Part of Geralt wanted to rebel a little. As ever, he did what he thought was right, what would save the most lives. But part of him felt like absolute and utter shit for doing it at the cost of those he loved most. 

The indecision didn’t last more than a second, though. He nodded.

“Because if you don’t,” Dracula said softly, gently almost, “I will make that world safe for you by _force_.”

Now more than ever, Geralt knew what Dracula was implying. He’d read up quite a bit on the history of Castlevania City, as told by the humans. He knew exactly what lengths Dracula would go to in accomplishing his goals. 

The thought of it should have disturbed him more.

Geralt looked into Dracula’s eyes and reached up to gently brush Dracula’s jaw. “I’ll call for help. I’ll do everything I can, and I…” He licked his lips, words failing him for a moment. 

“Good,” Dracula rumbled, his hands travelling down Geralt’s chest again, big and warm, sliding carefully over the scars and bruises. “Very good.” His claws caught on the waistband of Geralt’s pants.

“You did so much, just to help me.” Geralt couldn’t keep the mild astonishment out of his voice.

“I did nothing,” Dracula said, fierce and angry suddenly, his eyes glowing fiercely. “I _could_ do nothing short of waiting for you to die and then turn you into a vampire, hoping some part of you would survive the transformation.” The pants ripped, Dracula’s claws shredding them into little pieces. “Alucard saved you.”

“Alucard brought me here and his power and influence made me live, but you held the way for me. You forced the portal open that brought me home, and you held me then.” 

That one little act was huge for Geralt. He remembered how it felt to suddenly see the portal flare open so close. He knew immediately it wasn’t the Wolf opening it, that it was Dracula ripping it open _for_ him and burning out a few mages on the way. Geralt’s last want, the very last thing on his mind when he knew he was dying, was that he wanted to see Dracula and Alucard again. To feel Dracula’s arms around him. 

Geralt swallowed around the lump in his throat, and tried to huff out a laugh. “You moved your castle. Your people. You kept Ciri and Eskel and the rest of the wolves in mind. You amaze me.”

“You are _mine_,” Dracula said fiercely. “Mine. And I won’t give up what’s mine easily.”

Geralt’s chest ached with how much love he felt at that moment. What a strange, humbling, delightful experience to know that someone would literally turn the world upside down to keep him safe. Him. A witcher. A freak and a mutant. Wanted only for his skill at arms. But to Dracula, he wasn’t expendable. 

Dracula turned his attention down to the partially ripped pants and the bandages peeking out from under the torn cotton.

“I hate seeing you so weak,” Dracula said, hands going back to the pants and relieving Geralt of the remnants of his clothing. Dracula threw the shredded cloth away with a kind of vicious satisfaction, not stopping until he cut off everything hiding Geralt’s body from his view. The bandages and splints shared the fate of the pants, cut and cast aside.

Geralt was naked, fully and completely, in a way he hadn't gotten to be in a while. Except that brief shower adventure with Alucard, there was constantly some wrapping around him. Now he was exposed, each healing wound and ugly bruise visible to all. He didn’t even realize how skinny he had gotten, how much muscle mass he had lost before now. 

Damn, he would need to do so much training. So much.

“It will pass,” Geralt said, both to Dracula and to himself. “Anything that doesn’t outright kill me can be recovered from.”

“I’m going to give you my power,” Dracula announced, still kneeling over him all wrapped up in his black suit. There was something almost menacing in how little skin was visible on his lover. Only Dracula’s hands and his face were bare, everything else was covered in the expensive looking blend of cotton and wool. “And then I’m going to fuck you until you can’t walk anymore.”

Geralt became aware then of the image they must have presented. Naked and vulnerable, with his legs already spread to accommodate, compared to Dracula, all wrapped up in the fancy clothes like darkness and menace incarnate.

He swallowed, and his soft cock twitched.

He liked it, he realized. He liked feeling like this, desired and vulnerable, liked the way Dracula’s eyes roamed his body as if cataloguing all the ways it could be enjoyed.

The experience was especially sweet in light of the last week and a half. Yes, the pain and injuries had been terrible, but the lack of touch had been just as bad. Seeing Dracula and Alucard both hovering around him, mostly unwilling to touch, being unable to accept or even ask for those touches--both because of injury and because of Alucard’s persona here--and then to have Dracula and Alucard so obviously taking comfort in each other on top of that, was particularly difficult. Not because he begrudged them the comfort, but more because of what a tease it was.

Oftentimes Geralt enjoyed taking charge. He liked the rush of pleasure from moving his lovers to his will. While he didn’t get a great deal of that with Dracula, Alucard often submitted to him as he liked. 

But right now, being taken and enjoyed sounded great.

“You going to strip for me?” Geralt asked, shifting his leg enough to touch the powerful thigh wrapped in black fabric. He could feel how hard the muscles were there and ached to run his hands over them.

“No,” Dracula said unexpectedly. “You are here for my pleasure and I plan on using your body to my satisfaction.”

The casual ownership in the words, the clear want in them, made heat pool down low in Geralt’s belly. Unexpectedly, the thought of being used as a tool to bring Dracula pleasure only stoked his own interest higher. He realized he wanted it, wanted the affirmation that he was still attractive to his lover, that seeing him all broken had not made him look differently at Geralt.

Geralt nodded just a touch too quickly. “Yes.” The word barely came out. He had to swallow and try again. “Yes. I want that. I want to feel your pleasure filling me up.”

“I’m going to wreck you,” Dracula murmured leaning down, bracing his palms on the bed on both sides of Geralt’s head. “Make you wet and sloppy and all but crying with it all, and then I plan to pass you to Alucard and watch it all happen all over again.”

“Oh, fuck yes,” Geralt groaned, squirming in place at the thought of it. “Then both of you. Please. I want both of you inside of me.” 

Gods, but he couldn’t _wait_. However Dracula wanted to make that happen, Geralt was on board. A thousand filthy images flickered through his mind, and he was ready for every single one of them. “I am so fucking tired of being breakable,” he growled out in frustration. “I want you to fuck me until I can’t even see right.”

“That’s the plan,” Dracula agreed, lowering himself enough that their lips touched. 

It was barely a kiss, just a chaste brush of lips on lips before Dracula was opening his mouth and pouring power into Geralt.

He was not gentle.

The power burned sliding down his throat, fierce and angry; it seared him, spreading through his body like liquid heat. Geralt scrabbled to catch hold of something, anything. His fingers tangled in the dark cloth of Dracula’s suit as he desperately held on. Hard on the heels of that mind-numbing agony came pleasure. Thick and all-consuming, it washed his mind of coherent thought, spilling over his body like a tidal wave and filling it by force. 

He was making sounds, he knew he must have, nobody could feel this and remain quiet. Rage and pleasure tore through him, setting his body afire and changing him. He could feel that too as he clung helplessly to Dracula’s shoulders and swallowed the neverending rush of power. His injuries burned, his lungs seized and his eyesight was all but gone. He was drowning in pleasure, in fury and pain, everything that Dracula was pouring into him heedlessly.

When it stopped, when Dracula’s lips against his were lips again, when the press of lips became a kiss again Geralt realized his heart was pounding a thousand beats a minute, his face felt wet and his body tingled all over, the familiar aches and twinges of the cuts gone. 

He was hard, so damn hard, his cock drooling precome onto his own belly and balls pulling up tight. Gods, but he felt like he was on fire. His skin lit up at every place where Dracula’s clothing brushed against it. There was something exotic, something incredibly hot and impersonal in the feel of fabric on his skin, especially with how every part of his body cried out to be touched. Geralt writhed in place and dug his fingers into Dracula’s suit jacket, arching up into the body above him like a cat needy for attention. 

“I want to come,” Geralt hissed, doing his best to arch his hips up and get some friction to his cock. When that didn’t work he reached for himself, sighing in relief when his hand closed over his cock, sending a rush of pleasure up his spine.

“No,” Dracula rumbled, catching his hand and forcing it away from Geralt’s cock. “You won’t get to come until I’m inside you.” Then he was shifting, pulling Geralt’s wrist up and catching the other one, pinning them both to the bed above Geralt’s head.

Geralt whined and squirmed.

“I can get hard again,” he promised, squirming again and trying to find something to rub against.

“And you will,” Dracula promised. “Over and over, until I am satisfied.” Then he chuckled. “But only when there’s a cock inside you.” Dracula leaned down to lick over Geralt’s lips. “That’s the rule for today.”

Just hearing that made Geralt’s ass ache to get something inside of it. His whole body clenched up, flexing over and over as he imagined what that would feel like. He nodded, a little breathless. “Yeah. On your cock. On Alucard’s. Please.”

He became aware of the prickling sensation of Dracula’s power spilling over the room. From the corner of his eye he could see darkness rising up on the side of the bed, all but swallowing the bedside table and creeping up onto the bed in a thick, writhing mass he couldn’t see through. It stopped just before it touched him. Then it receded, leaving behind a small bottle of what Geralt knew was lubricant. He already used some of it with Alucard in the shower.

“Handy,” he rasped, looking at the small bottle and licking his lips at the implications of it.

“Very,” Dracula said, reaching for the bottle. “I could use it to tie you up, you know. Keep you still and spread open, maybe push some of it inside you just to fill you up that much more.”

Just the thought of it made Geralt moan and his cock twitch. He loved the feel of Dracula’s power wrapping around him. The idea that it could actually bind him and penetrate him was an exciting one. But he’d been aching to be touched for too long.

“I wanna do that,” he said roughly. “At some point. Today, use your hands. Please.” Geralt looked up into Dracula’s burning eyes and pleaded with his gaze. “I want to feel your hands on me, your strength holding me down.”

A deep rumble emanated from Dracula’s chest, low and pleased. 

“Want me to force you down?” He asked, pushing harder at Geralt’s wrists, pinning them harder against the bed.

“Yeah.” Geralt pressed up against the hold, struggling against it just because he could. A pleased, feral smile spread across his face as he relished both his own ease of movement and the effortlessness with which Dracula kept him in place. “I can take it. I want to.”

“You are amazing,” Dracula murmured, before he used his teeth to open the bottle of slick. “I can’t wait to break you.”

An excited shiver broke out over Geralt’s skin and a breathy little laugh bubbled out of him. “Witchers are resilient, and I’m more persistent than most. You might have to do it over and over.” 

It was probably stupid to egg Dracula on like this. He knew just how impressive a lover Dracula was, after all. The sheer strength and stamina that the vampire lord could bring to bear was beyond anything a human, or even a witcher, could compete with. 

But Geralt couldn’t help it. Couldn’t stop himself from pressing and teasing and urging Dracula on. He wanted every last scrap of attention and effort he could get.

“I don’t mind putting some work into this,” Dracula shifted closer, using his knees to spread Geralt’s legs wider, exposing him even more than he was. The feel of the soft wool against the inside of his thighs was surprisingly exciting.

Then Dracula proceeded to dump the whole contents of the bottle right onto Geralt’s cock. He hissed and jerked his hips at the cold, wet sensation of it sliding down the head and pooling onto his stomach.

“Hold that for me, will you?” Dracula murmured, running a finger through the slick, over the swollen edges of Geralt’s cock. It wasn’t even proper stimulation, just a damn tease, this barely there touch of one single fingertip. It was still enough to make his cock twitch.

“Fuck,” Geralt cursed under his breath, still half smiling despite the cold fluid dripping down his groin and sides. “Sure, happy to help.”

“I thought you would be,” Dracula murmured. “What with the no choice in the matter.”

Geralt huffed out a laugh. As if he wasn’t dying for all of this to happen. 

Then Dracula dragged his finger down, clawless now, over the length of Geralt’s cock, leaving a trail of cold wetness behind. Then he cupped Geralt’s balls, pulling at them gently. Finally, his fingers reached down between Geralt’s cheeks and circled his hole.

“So tight,” he murmured appreciatively as he kept circling.

Geralt nodded, arching into the touch. “You’re gonna be such a tight squeeze, oh gods. Your thick, beautiful cock always is, but now…” 

He let out a soft, helpless little groan. The one short bout of sex with Dracula and Alucard a few days ago wasn’t nearly enough to make up for his time spent recovering. He’d been out on the Path before his near death, too, meaning it had been a while since he’d been really fucked. 

The power he swallowed, the instant, powerful healing always tightened him up, too. He suspected that was why Dracula loved doing it so much during sex.

Dracula pulled his fingers away and went back to Geralt’s cock, ostensibly getting more slick and in reality using that excuse to tease him more with the barely there touches. Then he went back and pushed one finger inside Geralt.

“Yesss,” Geralt groaned. He couldn’t stop himself from clenching down, tightening up further on Dracula’s invading touch. A hot blush burned across his cheeks and he let his eyelids go heavy.

“So hot inside, so soft,” Dracula murmured roughly. “Going to feel amazing on my dick.” Geralt pulled his knees up, pressing them against Dracula’s sides, just to feel something, the resistance of his hard body against the inside of Geralt’s thighs.

“You could go a bit faster, you know,” Geralt huffed, tightening against that finger inside him.

“Really?” Dracula’s voice was lined with laughter. “Like this?” he asked, pushing one more finger in.

This was more of a stretch, but nowhere near discomfort. Geralt exhaled and arched his neck, bearing down on the new penetration. He loved that he could really feel his lover’s finger now, feel the stretch.

“Relax,” Dracula murmured, leaning down to bite on Geralt’s jaw, hot tongue licking at the vulnerable skin of his throat. “This is just the beginning.”

“Less talking, more fucking,” Geralt groaned, wishing he could do something, pull Dracula closer. He thrashed in Dracula’s grip briefly, trying to pull his hands free. His heart skipped a beat when he felt Dracula’s hand tighten against his wrists and keep him down, as easily as if he was a struggling kitten. Heat coiled up inside of him and he panted, already feeling breathless from what was being done to him. 

When it became clear that Dracula wouldn’t allow Geralt’s hands to move at all, Geralt lifted up his chin, bearing his throat. It wasn’t really a gesture of submission, it was more an invitation. Dracula's mouth was right there, his tongue laving over the skin. Geralt wanted him, all of him. His fingers, his cock, his teeth.

He could feel the tips of his fangs dragging over the skin, but not really pressing down. 

“Not before I’m inside you,” Dracula rumbled against his skin, pulling his fingers out and dragging them over the slick pooled on Geralt’s belly.

“Gonna make me come from your bite?” Geralt’s voice was soft and strained. Gods, but he was burning, melting with need.

“I like the way you clench down on me when you come, so powerful and so rhythmic. Feels so good,” Dracula said, lipping at Geralt’s throat then stopping to suck at his Adam’s apple hard. “And you make the most amazing sounds then, high and needy.”

“Yes,” Geralt nodded, already anxious to make it happen. He could barely keep his eyes open, but he wanted to keep Dracula in sight.

Then Dracula was coming back with three fingers, the stretch much more pronounced now as the thick fingers pushed their way inside Geralt. 

“Fuck.” He instinctively shifted his legs and pulled his knees up. This was more than he remembered, the stretch way more than what he expected from only fingers. “You have great hands. So good.”

Dracula was fucking him slowly, deeply with three fingers now. Pulling out until the fingertips could circle Geralt’s hole and then pushing back in, slowly, as deeply as he could. 

With every push in, Geralt took a sharp breath. His heart was pounding so hard he could feel his pulse throb under his skin, could feel his dick twitch and pulse with it. The scent of precome grew stronger and mixed in with the bland, artificial scent of the lubricant. He knew he had to be dripping like mad from all the stimulation and need.

He kept shifting his knees, rubbing his thighs over Dracula’s sides, feeling the slight sting of skin rubbing against the suit. It was the only kind of friction he could get and he kept doing it, wickedly aware of all the tiny points of contact between them.

“Please,” he begged, unable to stand this slow teasing, the stretch and ache of the finger inside him, almost too much yet at the same time definitely not enough. He wanted more, wanted Dracula inside him as deep as he could get him. A different, tiny part of his brain kept insisting that Dracula would surely strip some more if he wanted to fuck him.

“You’re here for my pleasure, remember? And right now I am enjoying your squirming very much.” The smile on Dracula’s face was audible in those words. It was a low, smug satisfaction that only served to make Geralt feel even more desired. 

Geralt made an unintelligible sound, tossing his head and squirming even more at the slow, deliberate fingering. He felt wet there already, the slick somehow getting everywhere - onto his thighs, his cheeks.

“Dracula, lover, please,” he gasped. “I want you inside.”

Dracula bit gently against Geralt’s neck, the fangs just barely prickling at the skin.

“Be good for me now,” Dracula murmured, “don’t move.”

A high whine escaped Geralt’s throat and he nodded. It was incredibly difficult; all he wanted to do was rut up into Dracula’s hand, to pull them closer together. But he knew whatever Dracula had in mind would be worth the effort, so he locked his muscles and forced himself to be still.

Dracula let go of his wrists and straightened on his knees, his eyes focused on Geralt’s, strands of his hair clinging to his forehead and lips.

Without taking his eyes off of Geralt he reached down to his pants. Geralt was sure he was going to show some skin finally, maybe make the clothes dissolve. He licked his lips, waiting, throat dry with excitement.

But Dracula did not strip. Never taking his eyes off of Geralt he opened his zipper and reached inside to pull out his cock. Hard and flushed it looked delicious, big enough to make even Geralt swallow nervously. His legs trembled with the need to move, to press them against Dracula, to get some friction, contact, _anything_.

“I’m going to take you like this,” Dracula put one hand on Geralt’s knee and squeezed. “With you naked and stretched on my cock, and me fully dressed.”

Geralt shivered hard at the mental image that painted. “Oh gods. _Oh gods_, Alucard is going to walk in and see that. Fuck.” 

What a picture that would be. Geralt, all nude, writhing and needy, with Dracula powerful and stunning in his fine clothes. 

Dracula let go of Geralt’s knee and swiped his hand over the slick smeared all over Geralt’s belly. Then he wrapped that hand around his cock and stroked slowly from root to tip, slicking it up.

“Because today, in this moment, you are a _willing hole_ for me to use, a _plaything_, a vessel for my pleasure.” Dracula’s voice was low and raspy. “Because you gave yourself to me and I am going to use the gift you gave me.”

All Geralt could do was nod, sharp and frantic. It was mind-boggling how much he was getting off on this. The position, the nakedness, Dracula’s words, all of it made him feel vulnerable and desired, made heat course through his body. Excitement poured through him and his cock jerked and jumped of its own accord.

Then Dracula was again reaching for Geralt’s wrists, leaning into the hold, pinning Geralt down and shifting to lay over him. Geralt felt the other hand between his legs, brushing his cheeks and then the blunt, firm pressure of the wet head of Dracula’s cock against his slicked hole.

He exhaled sharply, straining to push against that slight pressure, the hot presence so close but not yet doing anything.

Dracula waited, dragging the moment on until Geralt shuddered and took a deep breath to beg again. Just as the words were about to leave his lips, Dracula started pressing in.

Geralt all but choked on the words he was about to say, instead making a high, whining sound when he realized his claim that he was ready was a tad too optimistic. The pressure against his hole grew, he could feel it stretching, struggling to fit against the head trying to force its way inside him.

He forced himself to breathe through it, but on every sharp exhale he still let out a soft, startled little cry as his body tried to adjust. Still Dracula pressed into him, slowly, punishingly. For a moment, nothing else in the world existed. The sensation of Dracula’s fat cock being pushed into him was all he could think about. Geralt had the faint feeling that he was struggling against Dracula’s hold on his wrists, but it was a distant thing. 

The deeper Dracula pressed in, the higher those little sounds coming out of Geralt became. He could tell the exact moment the thick head popped all the way inside passed the tight ring of muscle of his hole. His body tightened reflexively against it, sealing down hard against the shaft. Fuck, it was such a tight squeeze, a blissfully full burning stretch that made Geralt want to hold still forever, just to feel it.

It kept moving, millimeter by millimeter, slowly pushing deep into Geralt. The feel of it was neverending. Every time Geralt thought there couldn’t possibly be more, that he couldn’t get any more full of cock, he was proven wrong. 

By the time he felt Dracula’s body settle flush up against his ass, Geralt was nearly crying with how full he was. His cock pulsed hard, and there was absolutely nowhere to move. He was held down, speared on that hard cock. Forced into place. 

He could barely breathe against the presence inside him. It was as if he could feel Dracula’s cock in his throat, he was too full to _think_.

Dracula started pulling out just as slowly as he pressed in, making Geralt feel every damn inch of him. Geralt squirmed and panted through the sensation, his voice choking off when the head caught on his tightly stretched rim and pulled at it. He wanted to curse, to squirm, sure Dracula was going to reverse and start pushing in again. Only Dracula didn’t. He kept pulling out, until the pressure of Geralt’s rim gave out and Dracula’s cock slipped free.

Geralt gasped, heart pounding and hole aching as he pressed his knees against Dracula’s sides, trying to keep him still, maybe keep him closer, he had no idea, he just knew he needed to do something.

“And now,” Dracula purred, his fingers touching Geralt’s hole. “We get to do it all over again.”

“Oh gods,” Geralt managed to gasp, instinctively clenching down against the sudden sensation of emptiness.

“Yes,” Dracula murmured, lips dragging against Geralt’s sweaty skin. He bit down on the stretched tendons of Geralt’s neck, sucking at the skin, doing his best to have Geralt marked up to hell and back. “Ready?”

It was a moot question, because Dracula didn’t wait. The fat head of his cock was kissing his hole again. Geralt could feel the difference, the way his hole opened up a little easier to the large intrusion. It still felt unreal, the stretch making his eyes cross as the head made it’s torturously slow way inside him. His breathing thundered in his ears, obscuring the sounds he was undoubtedly making. His shoulders and wrists ached, muscles trembling from how hard he was fighting Dracula’s hold. His legs were closed tightly over Dracula's hips, pulling him in almost unintentionally, his whole body tensed like a bow.

He couldn’t think of anything but the cock slowly, relentlessly pushing him open, filling him beyond what he thought he could take.

He wanted to curse, but he didn’t have the breath for it, so he just panted like a racehorse.

“You are so tight,” Dracula said as he bottomed out, circling his hips and making flashes of light explode behind his eyelids. “So good, you deserve a reward.”

Geralt barely managed to get a breath in to ask, when Dracula was letting his wrists go and taking hold of his jaw instead. He kissed Geralt, as deeply as he was fucking him, licking in like he owned Geralt and stealing his breath.

Just when Geralt was getting his brain back, when he managed to string two thoughts together over the mind-breaking sensation of Dracula thrusting so damn slowly into him, when he almost managed to respond to the kiss proper, Dracula put his hand on Geralt’s cock.

Whatever rational throught Geralt had managed to scramble together fled completely as that first touch pushed him over the edge with shocking abruptness.

It took him over, wiped out any and all thoughts and plunged him into ecstasy. His whole body seized as he came, the pleasure releasing like a broken dam. Whatever sounds he made were swallowed up by Dracula’s hungry mouth. He rocked into the pulsing pleasure, clenching down hard on that huge cock inside of him. If it felt like too much before, now it felt impossibly large as his hole gripped and tightened ineffectually around it. Hot come spilled over Dracula’s hand, still working him over, stroking him through the moment. Even as he came, Dracula still kept thrusting into him, rubbing right up against his prostate and drawing out his orgasm. 

When the last little bit of fluid had been wrung out of him, Dracula’s hand stilled on his cock. But he didn’t let go. He held on, firmly, tightly, with his thumb right over that oversensitive head. Even though his hand wasn’t moving, his cock still pushed in and out of Geralt’s flinching body. Now Geralt could hear his own cries, though even he wasn’t sure if they were from distress or pleasure. That cock rubbed right up against everything inside of him, keeping him open. It was too much, and he struggled again under Dracula’s tender mercies. 

Somewhere along the line, Geralt finally realized that his hands were free. On instinct he was clutching to Dracula’s shoulders, holding on for dear life as he was slowly pounded into the bed. The heat between them was scorching and every single thrust dragged the soft fabric of Dracula’s clothes all over Geralt’s body. It was like a full body petting almost, and even though Geralt was tearing up from the way his body was being used, he was still arching up into Dracula’s embrace. 

The brief period of oversensitivity was already passing as the sharp thrusting inside of him turned pleasurable once again. Geralt found himself getting hard again in Dracula’s hand. It wasn’t much of a surprise, really. Witchers did have outstanding stamina, and the surge and pulse of Dracula’s power was still pounding through Geralt’s veins. 

Gods, but it felt so good. Geralt was hungry for it. Ravenous for every stroke, every sensation. The smell of sex was thick in the air and sweat stung in Geralt’s eyes. 

He felt _alive_. Thrilled, pleased, aroused, and wanton all at once. A fresh surge of lust fueled energy raced through him as he pressed himself up into Dracula’s chest. He leaned up into that devouring kiss, putting one hand into Dracula’s hair to urge him on. At the same time, he wrapped his legs tighter around Dracula’s waist and pressed himself into every single thrust. 

That lasted for only a moment or two before Dracula growled, low and deep in his chest and pulled out. 

Geralt gasped, sparks flying at the sensation of the cock pulling out so fast from him. His hole ached, pulsing and clenching on nothing.

Faster than Geralt could even react to, Dracula flipped him over onto his stomach. One hand stayed on his shoulder, pressing him down into the bed, while the other slid down his side to catch right at his hip bone.

“You’re here to please me. Because you are mine,” Dracula said. He sounded immeasurably smug, incredibly pleased. As he spoke he pulled up on Geralt’s hip, presenting his ass. Geralt grabbed at the sheets, twisting them up his in fingers as he panted. There was just enough room for him to turn his head to the side to look up at Dracula behind him. 

Fuck, but he still looked perfect. Magnificent and immaculate, towering over Geralt’s shuddering body. There was a hungry smirk on his face as he trailed his eyes over every inch of exposed flesh, finally settling on Geralt’s spread open ass. A breath of cool air tickled at his skin and there was the sudden, feather light sensation of a tiny amount of lube dripping down from his hole. 

Geralt’s body tightened up and he could feel his hole clench tight, again, trying and failing to close on nothing. The sight of it made Dracula’s smirk spread into a toothy grin and he rumbled his approval. 

“Look at you,” he said softly. “So wet and open for me.” A finger slowly pushed in managing to only tease with the bare hints of sensation. “Waiting for me to fuck you, spreading your legs for me.”

Geralt moaned and did as Dracula suggested, letting his knees spread out more, opening himself even more obscenely. His cock touched the rumpled sheets and he hissed at the sensation of cotton against his swollen head. He tried to thrust, but Dracula’s hands stopped him, lifting his ass higher and denying him stimulation.

“Ah,” Dracula chided, pushing another finger into his sensitive hole and fingering him slowly. “This is for me, don’t forget.” He pulled out his fingers and pressed the head of his cock against Geralt’s wet hole. 

To Geralt’s intense frustration, he didn’t immediately press it in. Dracula just waited there, watching with obvious pleasure as Geralt’s rim fluttered against the cockhead pressed to it. 

“That’s right,” Dracula cooed. “Show me how much you need it. Look at how your little hole is just begging to be fucked.”

Geralt didn’t know whether to cry or snarl. Both seemed like wonderful options right then. 

Still, he couldn’t get over how powerful Dracula looked behind him. The clothes he wore were so black they looked to be of spun shadows themselves. Knowing Dracula, that’s exactly what they were too. It contrasted perfectly with his pale skin, and the clean handsomeness of it was a stark contrast to Geralt’s trembling upturned ass. The position they were in, the difference in how they looked, the way Dracula looked at him like he was a treat to be eaten, all of that made a scorching wave of heat flood Geralt’s body. His face was burning with it, both in arousal and in vulnerability. 

A soft little gasp escaped him as it all hit home. 

“There we go,” Dracula whispered. “That’s just perfect. Feel it. Accept it. You’re my little plaything today, and all you need worry about is how you’re going to please me.”

Before Geralt could come up with any kind of a response to that, Dracula was pushing into him again. The stretch of it, the feel of that cock splitting him open made his eyes flutter shut. Another low, long moan tore out of him as Dracula pressed his shoulders down farther into the bed.

Geralt grasped the sheets, closing his eyes and giving in to this, to the pleasure and desire, the heat Dracula was sharing so freely. Moans fell out of him along with every breath as Dracula pounded into him. He held onto the bed like it was a life raft, trying to keep in place with each brutal thrust. 

Throughout it all, Dracula kept his hands on Geralt’s hips, keeping him lifted up just enough so he couldn’t get any friction on the bed under him. The scent of sweat and sex filled his nose and his head, and the sound of every harsh panting breath was underpinned by the wet slide of the cock being shoved into him. Pleasure mounted up inside of him. It was far too soon for him to expect to come again, but that didn’t stop how good all of this felt. The constant rub against his prostate, the feel of those fingers digging into him. 

He wanted more. Wanted it all.

\--


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes from Quarra: Another huge thank you to Dira for being the best beta ever and helping plow through alllll these words. Oh my. So many words. You have my eternal thanks. 
> 
> We're still chugging away. Getting close to the end now! For those interested/worried about What Comes Next, there are yet more fics written after this one, just waiting to be proof read, hahaha. 
> 
> Happy Mother's Day (a little late) to those who want to be wished Happy Mother's Day.

Joshua Rollins was so damn excited that he was practically bouncing with it. In all his years working for Forbes Magazine, _this_ was going to be the biggest interview he’d ever done. 

He had no idea which saintly angel he’d managed to be blessed by, but Joshua had a private interview with Trevor Belmont. 

_Trevor. Belmont._

Not only was Trevor Belmont one of the wealthiest men in the world, with a net worth in the billions, but he was also part of one of the most prestigious families in the world. One of the most infamous, too. On top of that, despite Belmont’s occasional press releases, he was also a man who had never, not once, agreed to a private interview. With _anyone_. 

Today’s stroke of luck had to be because of the hospital incident a week and a half ago, and the press conference that came after it. For the first time since Belmont had come into the public eye, he’d openly spoken about his personal life. Joshua knew damn well that this interview was likely something to bolster Bioquimek’s slightly drooping stock prices--another aftereffect of the rumors about Belmont being in the hospital. 

Whatever the reason, Joshua couldn’t care less. All he cared about was how his name was going to be on the byline for this interview. 

If he was good at his job, this could be a career changer. This could set his name out from the pack. 

If he fucked this up, there was a damn good chance that he’d never work in Castlevania City again.

So. No pressure. 

Even with the stress of the situation looming, Joshua found himself gleefully submitting to anything and everything that Belmont’s security and administrative staff could throw his way. Quick background check? Sure, that seems reasonable. List of references and past employers? No problem. Thorough pat down and x-ray just to get in the building? Just point the way. 

He was allowed a camera operator to join him for some cover pictures, one note book, two writing utensils, and his small recorder. Everything else was confiscated at the security desk.

And still, Joshua couldn’t give a rat’s ass. 

This was the interview of a _lifetime_. 

He had a massive list of questions, and every single one of them had been checked over by Belmont’s personal assistant, John Smith. 

“This one, this one, and this one, don’t ask,” John said, marking off the most pointed ones about the Belmont family and their history. “Keep the focus on business. If you stray from that, don’t be surprised if Mr. Belmont shuts you down. He is a very private man.”

The very slightly unhappy frown that accompanied that statement made Joshua think that John wasn’t all that thrilled about a reporter being allowed access to his boss. 

But Joshua had been doing his job for years, and he knew damn well how to read between the lines. General questions about personal philosophy, life influences, and other such things had been left in the pool of options. Which meant that Joshua could probably wiggle his way into asking some pretty interesting things, provided he was clever about it.

That knowledge kept Joshua in a bright and chipper mood, even through John’s heavy censorship of his interview questions. 

Soon enough, Joshua and his camera operator, Genevieve, were escorted to a spacious sitting room, high up in Bioquimek Tower. It wasn’t at the top of the building, rumor had it that Belmont’s personal quarters were up there, but it was pretty damn close. An array of drinks and snacks awaited them and both of them helped themselves as they settled in to wait.

“How long do you think he’ll be?” Gen asked quietly. She was dressed well. They both were. Dressy casual. A suit would have been too much for Joshua and impractical for Gen because of the cameras she was hauling around. Instead, Gen wore her regular dark jeans and a tasteful dress shirt and sweater. Joshua followed suit, but had on dress slacks and polished shoes. He wanted to come off as intellectual, but not too intimidating. 

He had to laugh at the thought of Trevor Belmont finding him intimidating at all. No doubt this guy ate men in suits for lunch. Belmont’s business reputation was both impressive and ruthless. Through hostile takeovers, clever purchases, and outright brutal negotiation, he’d bullied his way into a vast array of businesses, expanding out Bioquimek’s market share as well as product array to mind boggling levels. That was coupled with, _tempered_ really, by Belmont’s insanely generous charity work directed towards helping the people of Castlevania City. The man had an ungodly amount of money and seemed to have absolutely no qualms about spending it, for the right cause. 

“Belmont is no doubt busy as hell,” Joshua said quietly back. 

He settled into one of the plush chairs available, a cup of fresh, hot tea in hand. It was a blend he’d never heard of. Hell, he couldn’t even pronounce it, but it smelled delightfully fruity. He noticed that no coffee was served at all. Since businesses far and wide seemed to run on the stuff, that was a little surprising. Still, he filed away the information. It would find its way into the piece he was writing, he was sure.

Because this? This was more than just a business interview. This was showing a deeply reclusive man to the world. This was giving his readers insight into someone they’d only heard of in impersonal news stories and on company letterheads. 

This was an _introduction_. 

World, meet the real Trevor Belmont. Or at least get a hint of him. It was those little personal touches that would make Belmont seem real. They would make him someone the readers could understand and therefore connect with. And it was that connection that made amazing journalism. 

Assuming Joshua could even pull it off, that is. That was by no means a given. He was good at his job, sure, but no one was perfect, and Belmont was a notoriously closed off man. Cold and rigid. If Joshua was able to get any kind of emotion out of him, he’d consider himself lucky. 

Make no mistake, Joshua knew that he had his work cut out for him. But he was damn excited to have the opportunity to try.

Just as Gen was opening her mouth to say something else, one of Belmont’s personal security guards came into the room. This guy looked so much like Secret Service that he may as well have been tattooed a badge number on his forehead. This was also something noticeable about Belmont. His security was renowned to be one of the best in the world. Unlike other businessmen, he wasn’t afraid to have them look like the soldiers they were. Large, solemn, and dressed in an immaculate black suit, the man gave the room a quick visual sweep and then held open the door.

Then in walked Trevor Belmont, the man himself.

He was dressed as perfectly as Joshua expected he would be in a light, smoky blue three piece suit. His shirt was a pale grey, and his tie was a solid, dark blue-grey. Silver, or probably platinum really, jewelry accented his clothes, each piece inlaid with deep blue sapphires. No rings or earrings, Joshua noted, but all the classic business accessories. Tie pin and cufflinks. He would have bet his apartment on there being a matching pocket watch under the buttoned up jacket, too.

What Joshua had not expected was the hair, or rather the intricacy of the long braid. It was almost a feminine choice. The way it was layered was complicated, far beyond the simple three strand braid that most women Joshua knew could do. It must have taken time and effort, and was very clearly designed to look pretty. Definitely not something Joshua expected from a man that came off as cold as Trevor Belmont did. The rare pictures of him from afar and the few press conferences he attended did not really show this little fact.

Joshua stood to greet him. Interestingly, Belmont stopped just out of comfort range for a handshake. While that was a little unusual, especially in a business setting, Joshua knew how to roll with the punches. If Belmont didn’t want to shake hands, they wouldn’t and Joshua knew how not to make a fuss over it.

“Mr. Belmont,” he said with his best smile. “Thank you so much for agreeing to this interview. I have to say, on behalf of myself and Forbes, we are all honored and thrilled for this opportunity.”

“Mr. Rollins,” Belmont said smoothly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He gestured towards the chairs. “Please, sit.”

Joshua sat down, but Gen stayed standing, preparing her still camera for some shots. 

He could see Belmont casting an eye at Gen, not as if he was checking her out but as if he was almost uncomfortable with her taking pictures. Or maybe he was just uncomfortable with a woman standing while he sat. Either way, he said nothing about it.

All of this, every nuance, every expression was filed away in the back of Joshua’s mind. He had so many questions. A hundred hours wouldn’t be enough. He’d be lucky if he got one.

“This is Genevieve Acklan.” Joshua waved a hand at Gen. “I’d like to start with her taking a few still photos of you. If you’ll allow it, we also have a tripod and camera for getting a video of the interview.”

“Still images will be fine, but I would prefer to pass on a video recording.” 

If there was any emotional attachment to that statement at all, Joshua couldn’t tell. Belmont was utterly prim and proper, and just as distant as his reputation implied. 

While Joshua was distracted, John had wandered over to hand Belmont a cup of the tea that was waiting. 

Interesting. A personal preference then.

Gen snapped several photos, moving around at different angles. When she moved a little too close behind Belmont’s chair, probably looking for some kind of shot of that braid, the security guard at the wall gave her a sharp look and stepped forward. To Joshua’s vast relief, she immediately backed off. 

“How would you like to start?” Belmont asked after taking a sip of his tea.

Joshua had to laugh a little. “That is the question.”

Part of that was a cultured facade. He was trying to loosen the tension a little, make things a touch more informal between them. Based on the pleasant blankness of Belmont’s face, he had absolutely no idea if he’d succeeded. Probably not. 

He pulled up his notepad and turned on his recorder. “I’m sure you’re aware that our readers probably have a million things they’d love to know about you. You walk a fine balance between being incredibly well known and, if I may, rather reclusive as well. Why is that? And why choose now to agree to a private interview?”

“For many, many years, the Belmont name has been one deeply entwined with the history of Castlevania City. It’s an uneasy thing, to live with such notoriety.” Belmont very slightly shrugged. “My family prefers to stay as private as possible because of that.”

Not a shock. No one liked to be tabloid fodder.

“So why now?” Joshua pressed a little. A very little. Just a tiny amount of pressing. 

He couldn’t help but lean in just a hair's breadth closer, eager for Belmont’s answer.

“It seemed like the right time,” Belmont said easily. 

Joshua wanted to wince. His estimation of this whole thing just turned a thousand times more difficult. Belmont’s answer was evasive and vague. Clearly the man was more used to avoiding questions than answering them. 

Then, to his utter surprise, Belmont continued. 

“After what happened with the hospital a week and a half ago, people were very worried.” Belmont looked down to the cup of tea that he’d wrapped both hands around. There was a faint clicking sound of Gen taking another photo. Damn, but the man was photogenic. “They needn’t be. There is nothing amiss.”

Joshua raised his eyebrows. “Somehow I get the feeling you’re not just talking about stock prices here.”

“As a member of the philanthropic community, I dabble in many different charities for Castlevania City. Every grant, every donation I give has been done so with trusts and clauses, agreements and networks in place so that funding won’t simply disappear, no matter what happens to me or my company. Since this is public knowledge, I didn’t expect there to be much concern generated from those sectors when rumors of a hospital visit started flying around.” Now Belmont looked back up to Joshua, and there was just the barest hint of a rueful amusement in his expression. “I did not expect to be flooded with get well letters.”

Even if Belmont was surprised, Joshua wasn’t, not really. Belmont had done a crazy amount for the city. Between the rebuilding, the free night time metro, and the outreach for the needy, Belmont had touched a lot of people’s lives.

“Your considerable efforts to rebuild Castlevania City have impacted multiple lives. In many ways you are considered to be the hero of Castlevania City.”

Belmont shook his head. “I did what was needed. It’s my responsibility. I just happen to have the means to accomplish those goals with alacrity.”

“Responsibility is a strong word,” Joshua said, curious. There was an implied question there, and he was damn curious if Belmont would answer. After all, the party line for philanthropists everywhere was that it’s everyone’s job to pitch in. But from the way Belmont spoke, Joshua had to wonder if something else was implied. The Belmont family was well known for championing humanity.

“It is no less than the truth,” Belmont said simply. “I could not stand by and watch people suffer, not when I could help.”

Some part of Joshua wanted to be cynical about that. It sounded like a line. But Belmont seemed to radiate sincerity. And he did help. Not just make one showy donation and call it a day. He funneled serious money into projects that truly helped those that needed it.

“Is that why you took over Bioquimek? That sense of responsibility?” 

This may have been retreading known ground. Belmont had been asked variations on this a hundred times. It had always been heavily implied that Belmont had taken over specifically to help with the Outbreak. Or perhaps simply as a result of the Outbreak. Right now, Joshua hoped to get a better, more complete answer.

“It was actually an accident,” Belmont said.

“Accident?” Joshua blinked, stunned by the unexpected answer. This was the first he ever heard of this.

“I was planning on acquiring Zobek’s Incorporated actually.”

“So how did Bioquimek fit into that plan?”

Belmont looked almost bashful for a second.

“...It was right there.”

Joshua snorted in surprised laughter. “You took over one of the most advanced, most powerful pharmaceutical companies in the world because it just _happened_ to be there.”

“I was already in the process of acquiring one corporation. It really wasn't that much more work to get another, and it did prove useful with the Outbreak recovery efforts.” There was something in Belmont’s expression that suggested he did know how ridiculous that sounded.

Wow. The sheer balls on this guy. He didn’t even seem that imposing, not right that moment anyways. There was a calm about him. An understated sense of utter control. It was fascinating. For whatever reason, Belmont seemed softer than Joshua expected.

Since they were on the subject of business acquisitions, Joshua moved along to the next logical question.

“What made you decide to branch out from the biochemical market to weapons manufacturing? It was an odd business decision to take over Bernhard Metals LTD, it being such a different market.”

Belmont hesitated, clearly measuring his words.

“Opportunity,” he said finally. Joshua couldn’t help the way his eyebrows shot up at this. Somehow, he took Belmont as a planner, not a man willing to venture into a completely different branch of business on a whim. “And the fact Bernhard Metals employed twenty thousand employees in just the City proper. If the company faltered, it would mean even greater problems for the City that was already struggling to contain the Outbreak.”

Joshua nodded and sipped his tea.

“Do you plan to branch out more?”

That earned him the barest hint of a smile. “If the right opportunity arises.”

“Bold words, and very bold choices. More than one person has commented on your fearless nature in the boardroom. Do you ever worry about this stuff?” Joshua waved his hand, encompassing the building around them and the implied associated power. “It seems like it would be a lot of stress.”

“No,” Belmont said, sounding sincere. “People do not scare me and at worst I will fail in the current endeavor.” Belmont took a sip of his tea. “I have been through… difficult times, in my life. The business world, in comparison, seems benign.”

Joshua blinked at him, a little surprised. “I’ve followed a lot of your public business deals. Buyouts like that, if they go wrong, could cost millions, sometimes billions of dollars. That kind of risk makes a lot of people nervous.”

“I don’t care that much about money,” Belmont said. “I spent a lot of my life having very little. I am not afraid of potential failure.”

It took everything Joshua had not to squeal like a twelve year old girl. Belmont talking about his past was utter _gold_. He had to keep his cool though. Stay casual and help lure Belmont out. 

“What were your younger years like?” He hoped Belmont wouldn’t be scared off, it was why Joshua left out the family name entirely.

“Complicated.”

Joshua raised his eyebrows a little, waiting, but plowed on after a heartbeat or two. Maybe it was time to bring up the family name.

“The Belmonts certainly are well known. That must have made growing up more than a little complex.” There was a shift in Belmont, a return of the utter blankness. That was the last thing that Joshua wanted, so the moment he saw it start, he shifted tactics again. “You obviously hold a great deal of business savvy. Who or what would you say are your biggest influences?”

Belmont opened his mouth to answer and then, uncharacteristically, closed it. He remained silent for a heartbeat, before he spoke finally.

“Few have had as much influence on my life as my Father. He has always had an unstoppable will, a driving passion that makes all opposition fall in his wake. I always expected that this would define a great part of my life, but I find myself surprised by how much I have learned from him over the years. It has been...unexpected, at times. Difficult, more often than not. But...good, in the end.” Belmont sounded somewhat surprised by this. “In comparison to my Father’s indomitable personality, few challenges in the business world even register as a concern.”

Holy shit, but with a description like that, Joshua was mildly terrified to ever meet Belmont Senior. 

“There is so little known about you,” Joshua ventured. “Considering your continued business success, would you share with our readers what kind of education you had? Schools you attended?”

For some reason, this made Belmont smile just a tiny bit.

“I had private tutors for a few of my childhood years and enjoyed access to good libraries, but mostly I have simply studied history.”

Joshua’s jaw dropped. He quickly snapped it shut as he realized just how fucking rude that look was. He swallowed hard and licked his lips, collecting himself.

“You mean to say you never went to college?” he asked. 

Belmont just shook his head.

“Or high school?” If the question was a little incredulous, Joshua felt he had an excuse.

Belmont’s amusement grew a little. “No. No formal education beyond basic reading, writing, maths, and languages. I have continued to study on my own as the years have gone by, but nothing like a classroom situation.”

“Languages,” Joshua said dully, still floundering a little. “Which one? Or _ones_?”

“Most of the commonly used ones.”

“What?” 

“I am fluent in many languages.” Then Belmont frowned. “I have not studied indigenous dialects much because it was hard to find conversation partners, but I am fluent in over twenty languages and conversational in several more.” He shrugged gently. “Over the years I found that there are similarities between languages. After the fifth, they really became very easy to pick up.” Then he looked thoughtful. “In the current era it is believed that children are best at learning because of the fact they absorb knowledge so fast and that adults are for some reason unfit for it. I find myself firmly disagreeing. Children are made to learn things they don't care about most of the time and they forget as soon as they learn, simply because they have no need for it. Adults may obtain knowledge slower, but their motivation is unsurpassable. Adults know why they are learning, unlike children. Their progress is slower at the beginning but they retain the knowledge at a much higher rate.”

As tempting as it was to engage Belmont in a discussion about the pros and cons of adult learning, this interview wasn’t about that. It was about Belmont, his life and business. 

“Did you find that to be the case with your learning through the years?” Joshua asked.

“Since I did not receive formal education the things I learned as a child were more tailored to my needs at the time. I did find that there was never really much difference in learning as a child or as an adult. Maybe in how much time I had to do it.”

A shifting off to the side caught Joshua’s eye. John, Belmont’s assistant, had twitched at that. Or at least Joshua thought he did. When he quickly glanced over to the wall where John stood, it looked like he was simply checking his phone.

_Focus_, Joshua told himself. He used his change in gaze to look around the room, making it less obvious that he’d caught something from Belmont’s PA. Maybe if things went well, Joshua could get some more questions answered from John; but that would be unlikely to happen if Belmont caught on too quickly and warned his underling not to say anything. Granted, he had probably already done that, but Joshua lived in hope.

“What advice would you give to young people struggling with a lack of opportunity in education? What steps did you take towards success?” Joshua looked back to Belmont. He leaned forward again as he spoke, making every aspect of his body express attentiveness. 

“If you do not have access to formal education, try learning from history. History of people, of corporations, of countries. There is a saying that history repeats itself, but all it boils down is that human motivation is the same and results in the same actions. Awareness of events that transpired in different places and different times is a great help. And keep an open mind, learn from different countries, different people too, not just your own history.”

Joshua nodded, thinking that response over. “Amazing. You know I’ve talked with people from all over the world. I expected intelligence and supreme business acumen from you, Mr. Belmont. I’m impressed to see that you’re also a student of humanity, too.” He smirked playfully. “Have you considered teaching masters classes on the subject?”

“I have been told I’m a horrible teacher.” This time Belmont smiled, just a bare uptick of his mouth. Whoever said that to him must have been a well liked person, or maybe just brave as hell. Nothing like deliberately insulting one of the most influential men in the world.

Maybe it was a comment from his younger years. 

Either way, Joshua was thrilled to notice that Gen was still silently, discreetly taking photos. Maybe she got that little smile on film. That would be a major win. Belmont looked grim as an executioner in most of his photos.

“That’s a shame,” Joshua said with a smile, keeping the commentary light. “You could always consider writing a book, I suppose.”

“I do not enjoy public attention, nor do I want to invite more than I already have.” Belmont shook his head very gently. “Besides, I’m just one man. There are as many ways to do the same thing as there are people. My method doesn't have to be the best, it’s just something that worked for me.”

Joshua hummed, just a light little sound to acknowledge the validity of that statement. Belmont was shockingly humble for a billionaire. 

Again, Joshua was torn. Part of him wanted to believe it all. The good name, the kind works, the soft-spoken, almost philosophical attitude. But part of him wondered what all of that covered up. Belmont was such a poised man; every little facet of his being seemed polished to perfection. No one got like that without having a reason for it. 

Time to switch tactics again.

“You mentioned get well cards,” Joshua said. “In your press conference last week, you said a close family friend had a life threatening emergency. While I understand that you’re reluctant to go into any detail, can you set our readers at ease? Did everything turn out alright?”

Joshua could see Belmont did _not_ want to. He stayed quiet for several heartbeats before speaking, his words slow and very measured.

“The doctors did an amazing job,” Belmont was clearly trying to answer without actually giving too many details. “The situation was dealt with successfully and the recovery is progressing even better than expected.”

“That’s great to hear, and thank you for the update.” Joshua smiled warmly at him. 

Usually, the people who he interviewed found him charming. By fifteen minutes into most interviews, he had them talking to him like he was a long lost cousin. That was part of the reason that he’d gotten this assignment in the first place. But Belmont seemed completely immune. While that wasn’t a total surprise, it was a little frustrating. No matter how he worked his tone of voice and body language, Belmont seemed at best mildly, benevolently polite. 

Damn, but he was a hard nut to crack. 

There was a knock at the door. 

Surprising. Given that Belmont was the man in charge here, it seemed odd that he was being interrupted. Unless perhaps it was an emergency.

John hurried over to the door and opened it a crack to see who was there. A heartbeat later, he was standing back, holding the door wide open.

The man who walked through had Joshua immediately on edge. In his many years of journalism, he’d seen all different kinds of dangerous men. Men with guns, men with machetes, men who wielded power like others wielded silverware. He knew a thug when he saw one.

And this guy who just walked in? He was a _thug_. 

There weren’t any weapons visible on him, and he was dressed about a hundred times more casually than Belmont’s other hired guards. Instead of their polished black suit, he had on well-fitted dark blue jeans and an untucked silver button down shirt with the top and bottom buttons left undone, further accenting the casual look. Designer sunglasses covered the man’s eyes and his shoulder length brown hair was left messy and loose. The only bit of adornment he wore was a bright silver chain, from which hung a massive pendant in the shape of a spiky, snarling wolf’s head.

Despite the casual look, the guy was built like a goddamn freight train, and he moved with purpose. To top it all off, there was the heavy scarring down one side of his face, over the lips, and across his neck. If Joshua didn’t know any better, he’d say they were claw marks. His rational mind theorized that maybe he got into a bad car accident, but something deep in his hindbrain screamed that was far too innocent an excuse.

There was also the fact that Belmont’s bodyguard shifted. It wasn’t a very obvious move, but he did shift to face the newcomer and there was a definite increase in tension. While the guard never looked relaxed, now there was a kind of energy to him that made Joshua think that even he saw the newcomer as a threat.

The newcomer looked at Joshua and Gen, but didn’t bother to acknowledge them. Instead he walked behind Belmont, making the bodyguard twitch again, and casually put his hand on Belmont’s shoulder. Joshua didn’t know what shocked him more. The fact Belmont didn’t so much as twitch at somebody behind him, or the almost shockingly intimate contact for someone as reserved with physical touch as Belmont.

The newcomer leaned in, his lips close to Belmont’s ear as he said something extremely softly. Joshua wished they were allowed a video camera, they could have turned up the sound later and heard what the man said. He could hear Gen taking pictures, probably trying to catch the shocking image but Belmont’s assistant was looking at her already. Joshua expected they would have to give up those pictures.

Whatever the man was saying to Belmont must have been incredibly interesting. Or perhaps just very important. He turned his head into the whisper in his ear, almost putting them cheek to cheek. It might have been Joshua’s imagination, but it almost seemed like Belmont was leaning in a little, too. 

The words were so damn quiet that Joshua couldn’t make anything out at all, not even in the utter silence of the room. The man must have been just barely breathing them into Belmont’s ear. 

After a couple of moments, Belmont tensed ever so slightly, his whole body going utterly still. That only lasted a second, though, and then he took a breath and licked his lips.

“They couldn’t wait,” he said quietly. Almost grumbling, actually.

The man just looked at him flatly, eyebrows just barely raised. Even with the sunglasses, the expression was eloquent. It couldn’t be more clear that he was saying, _what did you expect_ than if he’d been screaming it outloud. 

“Be glad they sent me instead of coming in person,” the man said in an obviously damaged voice - rough like a dog’s growl.

Joshua jumped in place at the sound of it, and he could see out of the corner of his eye that Gen twitched as well. Damn, but that voice alone was enough to make Joshua start looking at the security guards nervously. 

Interestingly, neither John nor the security guard behind Belmont reacted to that voice at all. They’d heard this already.

And still the man kept his hand on Belmont’s shoulder. The gesture seemed menacing, almost, although Joshua had to admit that Belmont didn’t look menaced in the least. 

Who the hell was this guy?

“I am sorry,” Belmont said, turning to Joshua. “I will have to reschedule the interview. There’s an urgent matter that I need to attend to immediately.”

Joshua opened his mouth but he didn’t get to ask a question. The newcomer finally took his hand off of Belmont’s shoulder and crossed his arms over his chest, making the muscles bulge under the designer shirt. He was also staring straight at Joshua.

“Problem?” the guy asked in his terrifying voice, attention still fixed firmly on Joshua.

For a brief moment, cold fear slithered down Joshua’s back. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that this man in front of him was willing and able to gut him like a fish, probably whistling cheerfully the whole time. 

Joshua swallowed and licked his lips, shaking his head. He scrambled to get himself together. He was a professional, dammit. 

Belmont did not react to the intimidation at all, simply got up from his chair in a fluid, graceful movement. That was something Joshua filed for later, how Belmont was either ignorant or approving of what was going on.

“No, no problem. Of course a reschedule will be fine,” Joshua managed to say in an almost even tone of voice. He was a professional; he did not squeak the words out. 

“John will give you the possible dates,” Belmont motioned at his assistant who was already fiddling with his phone, probably pulling out the calendar.

“That would be great,” Joshua said, finally regaining some composure. He stood up respectfully, though he didn’t try to approach. Partially because now he realized that Belmont wasn’t a hand shaker, and partially because the man with the scars was looking at him like he might draw a butcher knife out of nowhere and start hacking things to bits.

“Thank you for making the interview a less invasive experience than I expected.” Belmont said nodding at Joshua.

To that, Joshua had to smile charmingly. “Well, if I make it pleasant enough, you might agree to another one later.”

“I probably will,” Belmont said after a moment of thought.

Joshua nearly fist pumped the air with glee. He managed to hold back just in time. “Thank you for making time for us today. I look forward to our next appointment.”

Belmont nodded again. “Goodbye.” 

Then the billionaire was leaving, closely followed by the newcomer. Interestingly, the security guard was the last one to leave, trailing after the two at a bigger distance than Joshua expected of personal security. It was as if the newcomer took over the position.

The moment they were gone, John was right next to Joshua, phone in hand. 

“I’m impressed, Mr. Rollins,” John said, his voice warm with both surprise and praise. “Mr. Belmont really took a liking to you.”

Joshua had to blink. 

During the whole interview, Belmont had been two short steps away from totally shutting him down. Half the questions he hadn’t even given proper answers to, just vague commentary that only just barely managed to stay within the same realm of the question.

And this was what a warm reception looked like. 

He shook his head, still a little stunned. 

As he set up the makeup interview date with John, he had to wonder. Who was the man with the scars? Why was he so close to Trevor Belmont? Why wouldn’t Belmont answer any questions about his past, or only answer them in the most vague of ways? 

“Please show me your camera, I need to approve your pictures.”

Damn. There go any photos they might have of said mystery man. 

Joshua held back his disappointment and tempered it with excitement. Even with all the evasiveness, limited access, and short interview time, he’d still gotten more out of Belmont than anyone else. 

If this interview was any indication, the follow up would be even better. Maybe he could get some more information about the scarred man, too.

\--

“Really, Eskel?” Alucard said, feeling a touch exasperated. 

He’d held out until the two of them were alone in the elevator headed up to his private floor. But the moment those doors closed behind him, he couldn’t contain himself anymore. 

Maybe it was because of how Eskel looked walking into the conference room, dangerous and quiet. Maybe it was how even now Alucard felt the itch to reach out and touch some part of him, any part. Maybe it was just a byproduct of the news Eskel had to bring. 

Whatever this feeling was, Alucard was a little on edge. 

“What?” Eskel asked, sounding utterly confused.

Alucard looked at him out of the corner of his eye. The witcher was leaning against the elevator wall, arms crossed over his chest. To Alucard’s vast disappointment, he’d already taken the sunglasses off; from the look of them, they were Matt’s. Probably given to Eskel when Matt informed him of where the interview was taking place. Alucard found he enjoyed how they looked on Eskel, even if they did cover up his amazing eyes. He resolved to promptly add several pairs to his ever growing shopping list.

“What do you mean, what?” Alucard said. He wasn’t annoyed. Perhaps just a little incredulous. “You’re picking up all of Father’s bad habits.”

Eskel had stalked around that conference room like he was hunting in it. And then he purposely scared the hell out of that journalist, intimidating him into silence when it looked like he might object to Alucard leaving so quickly.

“Hey, it’s not like I showed up with my swords.” Eskel raised his eyebrows, still looking a little mystified. 

“And the way you loomed?” He looked pointedly at Eskel.

“I knocked. I wore these things,” he gestured at the sunglasses in his pocket, “because Matt said it might cause you issues if they saw my eyes. And besides,” Eskel paused to frown a little. From anyone else, Alucard would have called it a pout. “Looming is what I’m good at.” Now he just sounded grumbly.

Alucard tilted his head in a conciliatory fashion. “...The glasses are very nice, yes.”

If anything, Eskel just looked more grumpy, his shoulder hunching up a little around his ears. “You liked it just fine when I was looming in the new suits.”

Yes, in fact Alucard had enjoyed that. The way that thin, fine material showcased off every muscle, every firm curve. Not to mention how tight those clothes were in very _strategic_ areas. That first suit was so splendidly fit that Alucard had to wonder if Eskel had worn any underwear under those pants at all. Something about the bulge under those expensive, dark slacks seemed very natural.

“Hm. I probably could have scared that guy more if I was looming in one of those suits,” Eskel said musingly. 

“I never said I didn’t _like_ you looming.” Alucard was finding it a little difficult to stay on target with the discussion.

Eskel threw his hands up into the air. “Then what’s the problem? I don’t understand.”

The elevator dinged, and they both stepped into the hall. There was already a heavily laden cart of food there, parked along the wall.

“You didn’t need to try and scare that reporter,” Alucard said, finally dragging his mind back on track.

“I don’t know if you noticed, but most humans find me effortlessly frightening.” A hint of a smile lurked on Eskel’s face, but he didn’t follow Alucard farther down the hall. He paused, waiting, and forcing Alucard to wait too just to finish their conversation.

“You were doing it on purpose.” 

“Well. Yes. He looked like he was gonna give you grief, though.” Eskel shrugged a little, trying to come off as nonchalant but narrowly missing. “And the guy’s charming smiles were as fake as your contacts.”

Warmth rose up in Alucard’s chest. Eskel was trying to protect him.

“You didn’t need to do anything. I could have easily handled the situation,” Alucard forced himself to say. 

“Believe me, I know.” Eskel shook his head and studied the floor. His arms were back to being held tightly crossed over his chest. Almost like he was stopping himself from reaching out. 

Alucard wanted to close the distance between them. Bridge that gap and make them touch neck to knee once again. 

But if Eskel didn’t want to touch, then Alucard would respect his wishes. As blissful as their recent cuddling had been, things were still a little awkward between them. 

The silence stretched for a minute.

“Are you going to come to the room to help me drop this off?” Alucard asked, waving at the cart of food. 

Eskel shook his head. “No. I'm sure by now those two are already fucking, and I do not want to catch an eye full of that.” The way he said it was strained, though, and his heart beat extra heavy for a few rounds. Almost a lie, then. Maybe only half a lie. Or maybe he was lying to himself. 

It was incredibly difficult to contemplate walking off, even though he knew that Dracula and Geralt were waiting for him.

Well. Likely not _waiting_ at all. No doubt they were already well on to the main event: healing and fucking Geralt silly. But they were expecting him to join them as soon as possible.

As much as Alucard wanted to be there to join in, it was still hard to walk away from Eskel. The part of him that was still all twisted up by their new bond wanted Eskel around always. Touching, preferably.

Eskel must have seen his hesitation, because he loosened up his shoulders and waved Alucard off. “Don’t worry about me. I can entertain myself while you patch Geralt up. I’ll go bug Matt to play cards with me.”

Alucard looked towards his bedroom door at the end of the corridor, but didn’t move to approach it.

“Alucard?”

“I don’t want to leave you alone,” Alucard said, sounding conflicted. He liked Eskel’s company, found him comforting and relaxing, but up until very recently if faced with a choice between Eskel’s company and sex with Geralt, he would have chosen sex without much thought. Now there was something jittery in his chest that made him check on Eskel again and again. He also had a very strange urge to--he wasn't sure what--maybe feed Eskel? He really wanted to ask if he was hungry, if Alucard could get him something.

“Is it the bond?” Eskel sounded painfully neutral, so purposely casual that Alucard had to wonder just what he was trying not to show. 

“I… yes,” Alucard sighed. “Are you hungry? Cold? You need anything?” he asked as if despite himself, spitting out all the questions at once.

Eskel seemed to deflate a little, his shoulders slumping down and his eyes glued to the floor. It only lasted a moment, though, then he shook it off. He looked up into Alucard’s eyes and stepped forward, moving right up into his space. There was just a second's pause, and then he was wrapping his arms around Alucard; one tight around the waist and the other reaching up to cradle Alucard’s jaw. He pressed in close, putting them nearly cheek to cheek.

The touches were electric, especially the hand on Alucard’s jaw. It was so warm, burning almost, and Alucard could feel the start of a charge growing there. The faint echo of power gathering, ready to flow into him just as it had when they’d cuddled on the couch. Before he knew it, Alucard was holding on to Eskel, fingers digging in to the sinfully fine shirt. _Alucard’s_ shirt, in fact, and the fact that Eskel was wearing it made something pleased coil up inside of him. It seemed that Eskel wasn’t the only one picking up his Father’s habits.

“I’m fine, Alucard,” Eskel whispered into his ear. “I have everything I need. Go enjoy yourself and don’t worry about me.”

“Do your best to tease Matt,” Alucard whispered quickly. “I think he was getting bored working for me.”

That made Eskel snort in amusement, and he squeezed Alucard tight. “We can’t have that, can we.” He laughed again, soft and short. “That guy is gonna get heart problems, he’s so stressed.”

Eskel crushed Alucard close to him and nuzzled into Alucard’s jaw. He took a deep breath in. Taking in his scent, Alucard realized. Then he pulled back, stepping away and out of their embrace. 

“Have fun,” Eskel said as he moved towards the elevator. To Alucard’s ears it sounded a little strained. 

The sensation of loss from the sudden lack of skin to skin contact left him a little stunned, though. He couldn’t quite scramble his mind together fast enough to comment.

Right before the elevator doors closed, Eskel peeked his head out to mock glare at him. “And please, spare me the details when you’re all done.”

Alucard blinked at Eskel innocently.

“I think that horse is well out of the barn by now,” he said watching intently for Eskel’s reaction.

Eskel just huffed, though there was a hint of smile on his lips. “Yeah, well, you and Dracula both do like repeat performances.”

“We just find you entertaining.” Alucard smirked.

Eskel looked sourly at him. “Uh huh.”

Alucard smiled toothily at Eskel, strangely uplifted by the interaction. 

Eskel shook his head and waved Alucard away. “Text me when you’re done, otherwise I’m just gonna assume you’ll be busy for the next two days.”

He didn’t bother waiting for a response. He just ducked back into the elevator, leaving Alucard alone in the hall.

Alucard was still smiling when he opened the door to his bedroom. To be fair, he did expect sex to be happening, but the sight that greeted him wiped any and all thoughts out of his head.

Geralt was on his stomach on the bed, completely naked and gloriously whole and healed. His hands twisted into the sheets and his face was turned towards the door, jaw slack with pleasure. His hips and ass were lifted up, presented, displayed as Dracula fucked into him. Dracula was still fully dressed in his version of a Castlevania City suit. His body was almost completely wrapped in fine black fabric; only his face and hands visible. He’d just unzipped his pants and started fucking Geralt like that. His fingers dug into Geralt’s hips. Keeping Geralt’s cock lifted up from the bed, Alucard realized. Unable to get any kind of friction or stimulation except from the thick cock pounding inside of him. Dracula had a vicious, hungry look on his face, strands of his hair sticky from sweat were clinging to his cheeks and forehead. The room was filled with Geralt’s soft cries and Dracula’s power. The scent of sex, of come and sweat, was enough to make Alucard dizzy with how fast his blood pooled in his groin.

It was beautiful. Gorgeous and steaming hot at the same time. There was such power in that image. The way Dracula forced Geralt onto his cock. How collected and refined he looked in his dress clothes contrasted perfectly with the absolute sweaty, naked, wantonness that Geralt showed as he scrambled to hold still through the assault. There was something stunning in the way Geralt gave in, how he let Dracula just _take_ him.

“Welcome back, Son,” Dracula said.

Geralt wanted to say something, Alucard could see that in the way his chest expanded as he took in a breath, how he opened his mouth, but his Father didn't let up. Instead he thrust in harder, bottoming out inside Geralt and stealing whatever words he wanted to say. The sound of it, Geralt’s choked breath and the wet squelch was like punch to his chest.

“Geralt,” Dracula said in a low purr. “Don’t be rude. Greet Alucard properly.” As casual as his words were, Alucard could see how he was breathing hard, how his mouth was open, teeth just barely showing.

While he said that, he didn’t let up one little bit, still fucking the very breath right out of Geralt’s body.

Alucard was approaching the bed before he even knew what he was doing, unable to stay away a second longer. He reached out to touch Geralt as soon as he was in reach, putting his hand on that sweaty, straining back and feeling the way his muscles moved as Dracula fucked him, shifting his whole body. He ran that hand up, between Geralt’s shoulder blades, almost giddy at the sensation of naked skin under his palm, to the straining shoulders struggling to keep Geralt in place against the powerful thrusts. He couldn’t stop himself from looking at the place where Dracula and Geralt were joined, his stretched rim and the hard, wet column of Dracula’s cock driving into him so deeply. His own breath hitched at the way Dracula pressed in to the hilt on every thrust. He knew how that felt, how that thick cock could steal his very breath, how huge it felt inside.

“You are breaking him,” Alucard rasped, watching, mesmerised as Dracula pulled back, his thick cock withdrawing from the obviously tight clench of Geralt’s body. He could see the way the rim clung to the retreating flesh, could hear the shuddery exhales Geral was making, could feel the way his back worked. Alucard realized he was hard, his own cock pushing against his slacks. His heart was already pounding and his mouth was dry.

“Yes,” Dracula agreed, voice raspy and satisfied. He gripped Geralt’s hips harder, leaving fingertip shaped bruises as he pulled them higher, forcing Geralt’s hips harder against him on the next thrust.

Geralt dug his fingers hard into the twisted up sheets, wanton, lost sounds leaving his throat in tandem with Dracula’s moves. Something in the way he lifted his elbows a little made Alucard pause and take notice. On the next forward thrust, Geralt shot his arms forward, grabbing Alucard around the waist clumsily, eager, and pulling him in close. He shoved his face right into Alucard’s groin, rubbing and pressing into Alucard’s cock like he was desperate for it, for touch and taste, contact of any kind. Every time Dracula slammed into him, his face pressed hard up against Alucard’s cock, stroking him almost. Alucard could feel the heat of his breath, of his flushed skin, the scent of sex even thicker now in the air than before. He could tell, from scent alone, that both of them had to have come at least once already. He couldn't help imagining how slick Geralt had to be already, how it must feel to push into that tight, wet heat.

“Oh what a good wolf, so eager to please us both.” Dracula’s smile grew a touch. He shifted, changing the angle and pounded into Geralt with short, fast jabs that made Geralt scream right into Alucard’s groin.

This was too much, too hot, too tempting. Alucard forced his palms between himself and Geralt, hands shaking as he opened his own zipper and pulled out his cock. He hissed at the touch of his own hand, too impatient to undress, he just had to free himself. As soon as he did Geralt was there, his hot hand wrapping around Alucard’s length and wet, sloppy mouth wrapping around Alucard’s head. Tight and hot, Alucard shuddered hard and put his hands on Geralt’s head, feeling the tangled, sweaty hair under his fingers. He tried very hard not to force Geralt onto his cock. His caution was useless though. While he panted and shuddered through the pleasure of Geralt just stuffing as much of Alucard’s cock as he could into his mouth, Dracula changed his rhythm again. With one powerful thrust he managed to shift Geralt’s body enough that Alucard’s cock was forced into his throat. 

Alucard’s eyes all but crossed at the way the head of his cock was pressed into the tight, fluttering throat. The half choked scream that rattled through Geralt was mostly just vibration and a series of sharp contractions that massaged his length so well Alucard himself moaned. Geralt wasn't even trying to control the depth of the penetration, merely scrabbling to hold onto Alucard’s hips and letting Dracula control their movements.

Alucard was suddenly struck by the knowledge that he didn’t need to worry about Geralt being injured. There was no need to be especially careful of making sure Geralt could breathe properly. With no damage to hinder him, Geralt could hold his breath for an incredible amount of time. It was an ability they all had taken advantage of in the past, to everyone’s immense enjoyment. 

Relief and lust poured through Alucard, sharp and hot. He threaded a hand through Geralt’s hair and pressed his cock deep into that tight throat, fucking Geralt’s mouth as deeply as Dracula fucked his ass. The constriction only grew more intense as Geralt moaned and swallowed around it, so wet that his mouth was smeared with spit.

There was something unexpectedly arousing in the way Geralt gave in, the vulnerable arch of his back, the way his sides worked as he tried to catch a breath whenever Alucard pulled out far enough. Alucard tangled his fingers into Geralt’s hair, holding on, fighting not to come right away, to feel this longer, to etch the sight, the pleasure into his memory.

It was also unusually sensual to be doing this while still dressed. Alucard knew just how much power being well dressed could grant him, but he’d never considered it in this context. With his armor, yes, but not his business wear. The way Geralt was naked, sweating and hard between them, while both Alucard and Dracula looked as proper as could be only added to Geralt’s vulnerability. Like he was there solely for their pleasure, a toy, a vessel for them to spend themselves in. Just the thought of it drove Alucard to distraction, and he knew he’d be having complicated thoughts about his suits from now on.

When Geralt tensed, his throat locking up against Alucard’s cock and sending white hot sparks of sensation through Alucard’s body, it took him a moment to realize that Geralt was coming. Untouched, filled with cock in every way possible, he was tensing rhythmically between them and _coming_. The scent of fresh semen was thick in the air, Geralt’s choked off moans echoing between them. Alucard, driven by lust and instinct, pressed into Geralt’s mouth as deeply as possible, filling his throat and closing off his air. Dracula sped up his thrusts, angling low, right into Geralt’s prostate, fucking him fast and hard through the spasms, prolonging his orgasm. Geralt was twitching and moaning, hands holding on for dear life to Alucard’s hips, letting them break him as far as they wanted to.

His Father made a sound then, a half choked noise that immediately pulled Alucard's attention to him. It was so rare for him to make noise, to lose control, that Alucard’s eyes were helplessly drawn to him.

Dracula had his head tossed back, a slight flush on his pale face and his hands clenched bruisingly tightly on Geralt’s hips as he ground into him. He was coming, Alucard realized, spilling himself into Geralt. It punched his own lust higher, pleasure spiking. His cock was still shoved deep inside Geralt’s throat, his hands were helplessly clenched in Geralt’s hair. He was so close, so damn close.

“Don’t come,” Dracula growled, letting go of Geralt’s hip and reaching to wrap his hand behind Alucard’s head. He jerked him down, closer, so that he could lick deeply, wetly into Alucard’s mouth, fucking him slowly with his tongue.

“Look at him,” Dracula rasped as he pulled away from the kiss. “He’s so wet already, all but squelching with it.” He demonstrated by thrusting shallowly. Geralt twitched and flinched against him, the wet sound of Dracula’s cock squeezing into that wet hole filling the air. “But he’s the tightest he’s ever been.”

Dracula wrapped his hand into Geralt’s hair, right over Alucard’s fingers, and pulled him back, slowly forcing him off of Alucard’s dick. 

It felt excruciating, the slow drag of Geralt’s tight throat against the head of his cock, the sensation of it popping out, the wet, mobile touch of his tongue as Geralt struggled to caress him even as Dracula pulled him away. Eventually Alucard’s cock fell free, sliding over Geralt’s cheek and smearing it with saliva and precome. Both of them moaned at the loss.

“You need to feel him,” Dracula was saying, “feel how wet he is, how tight, how he clenches down with every breath.” His voice was low and raspy, shivering over Alucard’s skin. 

Geralt was still held between them, panting like a racehorse and fighting Dracula’s grip on his hair, struggling to get back at Alucard’s cock.

“Just look at him, so sweaty and messed up, a willing hole for us to use, to fill with come, to mess up.”

“Oh God,” Alucard couldn’t help himself. His hips thrust forward, the head of his cock sliding over Geralt’s face, spreading the freely dripping precome over his skin. His balls were tight and pulled up, he was so very close, so hot he could barely stand it. “Yes, yes,” he gasped. 

Dracula let go of Alucard’s neck and pulled back more, forcing Geralt with him. Slowly, deliberately, he forced Geralt to straighten on his trembling knees, forced him up and back, exposing his chest, covered in sticky strands of his own come, his softening cock still twitching as it hung defenseless between his legs.

“Don’t hold back,” Dracula was murmuring even as he kept pulling Geralt back. “_Use_ him, he _wants_ you to.” 

The look of Geralt, flushed and needy, was too difficult to resist. Alucard shifted forward and cupped a hand over Geralt’s soft cock, so slick and warm in his palm. A ragged moan ripped out of Geralt’s throat and he tried to twitch his hips forward. That only caused him to tense up further.

Alucard realized that Dracula was still inside of him, still stretching him open. Holding him in place, pinned by both the cock in his ass and the hand in his hair. 

His heart thundered and he felt almost dizzy with how much he liked it, how much this was turning him on, stoking that possessive, wicked streak he so rarely felt flare up. He wanted to devour Geralt, wanted to bite him, lick him, fuck him. Wanted to see how far Geralt would let him push. He wanted to leave him a shivering, moaning mess. Gods, his mouth was watering at just the sight.

As he took in every trembling, flushed twitch of Geralt’s body, he noticed all the scars. Thin, white lines left over from the surgery, almost as detailed as a roadmap. That possessive streak flared even more at the sight of it. Geralt was whole again, healed and healthy, but each one of those lines was a mute witness to the fact that they’d almost lost him. 

A low growl ripped out of his throat and he slid his hand down Geralt’s leg, lifting it up at the knee. Geralt’s body lifted up a little and now Alucard could see Dracula’s cock, still hard and wet inside of him. Slowly, achingly slowly, it slid out, catching a bit on the rim before finally popping free. The moment it did, a small rush of fluid dripped out of Geralt, come and lube both all trickling down his legs and onto the bed under them. His hole fluttered, tightening down on nothing but failing to close all the way. Open and used, just how Alucard liked him.

Geralt gasped, his arm flailing to catch at the lapel of Alucard’s suit. The fingers clenched tightly in the fine cloth, wrinkling it hopelessly, but Alucard _didn’t care_.

“Beautiful, isn’t he,” Dracula said quietly, nosing into Geralt’s neck. “Ours to use.” He licked a strip up to Geralt’s jaw. “Just for our pleasure. Look at him, look at how he’s straining towards you. He’s so hungry, aching to have you in his hole.” 

There was a short twitch from Geralt, almost like he’d tried to nod along with that, but the hand in his hair held him too tightly.

Alucard surged forward, pressing his lips against Geralt’s, licking into him hungrily. Yes, yes he would do it. He would fuck and use Geralt because there was no longer any power in this world that could stop him.

\--

The moment Alucard pressed up against him, Geralt moaned and shuddered with sensation. He tried to match the deep, ravenous kisses that were being pressed into him, but the hand in his hair held him so perfectly still. He was aching in the best way, already a little sore from Dracula’s punishing, brutal fucking. 

It was glorious. 

He struggled against Dracula’s grip and tried to pull closer to Alucard. But again, Dracula was there, holding him tight at the head and hip. Forcing him to stay in place as Alucard’s hands wandered up and down his body, his touch possessive and lustful.

“You’re our pleasure toy, Geralt,” Dracula whispered in his ear, voice low and raspy. “You take what we give you.”

Mad shivers broke out over his flushed hot body and his hole tightened again in anticipation. Alucard wasn’t inside of him, not yet, but Geralt could feel the soft slide of two cocks up against his ass and balls. So close to where he needed them, but not granting him any mercy. Not yet. 

Just that feeling alone made him finally realize that they might actually both fuck him today, shove both their thick cocks inside of him at the same time, stretching him so tightly he wouldn’t even be able to scream. The idea of it made him groan again with want as a wicked hot blush burned at his cheeks.

He clenched his hand in the soft fabric of Alucard’s suit, again made aware of how very naked he was and how dressed up both of his lovers were. The reality of it made his heart skip a beat, made heat coil up in his groin. His cock twitched but he couldn’t get hard right away, not after coming twice in such rapid succession. He shivered instead, feeling the slightly rougher texture of Dracula’s suit behind him. The sharp clean lines of Alucard’s light suit were shocking against his naked flesh, the sharp lines of his cuffs rubbing harsh marks against his sensitized skin. He moaned again when Alucard’s hands closed over his pectorals, massaging the muscle like one would breasts and pinching at the peaked nipples, making Geralt flinch at the sharp sensation.

“Please,” he croaked through a dry throat. Gods, he wanted this, wanted more, wanted Alucard’s cock inside him, wanted Dracula inside him, wanted to be good for them.

“We’re going to fuck you so long you won’t be able to sit for days,” Dracula said happily, mouthing along his neck. Each little graze of those sharp fangs on his skin was a cruel tease, and they both knew it. “You’re so tight right now, you’re going to ache with it. Your little hole will be so tender, so stretched and used. I want you so filled up with our come that you’ll drip for hours afterwards. If I wanted to fuck you again, you’d be ready for me, wouldn’t you. Still messy from us both.”

Gods, but Geralt could picture that happening. They were going to wear him out, there was no doubt about that. Without even the strength to get up and clean off, Geralt would have to lay here, wet and open. Dracula really could spend the next day or two just using him as he felt like it. The thought of it was unbelievably hot, and Geralt twisted in place, writhing as he considered Dracula forcing him awake with a cock in his ass. 

As he thought about it, Alucard continued his teasing. He pulled and pinched and licked, driving Geralt straight out of his mind. 

Without any conscious thought on his part, Geralt found himself lifted up further, both legs now hitched up over Alucard’s waist. Then he was filled again, as Alucard pushed his cock in with a sharp, almost brutal efficiency. He wasn’t as thick as Dracula, but he was a little longer, and Geralt could feel every millimeter of that difference. A broken moan ripped out of him and he was torn between arching up and going utterly limp. Fuck, but that cock was burningly hot inside of him, rubbing up against all the right places, stretching him out with a delicious burn.

His body throbbed with pleasure. Everywhere hands and mouths touched him were bright points of sensation on his oversensitive body. He couldn’t help but get hard again, his cock twitching painfully at being forced to attention so quickly after his last orgasm.

Fuck, but he didn’t know how much of this he could take. Alucard thrust into him with such brutal strength, forcing high little cries out of Geralt with every push in. He couldn’t stop the sounds, couldn’t control himself at all. All he could do was feel, was give in and ride the pleasure.

Alucard was so close, Geralt’s nose was chock full of his perfume, his sweat and his lust. The feel of the expensive wool blend under his hands, against the skin of his thighs, his cock, was driving him slowly insane.

Alucard fucked him hard and fast, chasing his own pleasure. His hands were gripping hard, adding bruises to Geralt’s body, stoking the fire higher, making him even more aware of how vulnerable he was with them, how easily they could manhandle him as they wished. He pushed his head back hard, pressing into the thick shoulder behind him. He let himself feel this, the pleasure, the sensation of the long, thick cock pushing into him, breaking him. He wanted to close his legs, to wrap them around Alucard’s body, to do something, _anything_, but he couldn’t quite find the strength or coordination for it. Each thrust, each push and drag inside him send sparks of powerful pleasure through his body. 

There were sharp, tiny, pleasure filled bites at his neck as Dracula teased him. Never really biting down to feed, just pricking the skin, grazing it with his fangs. Those strong, furnace-hot hands held him up, held him open, as Alucard fucked into him. He could feel the rub of Dracula’s cock on his ass, softly pressing against where Alucard was already so thoroughly using him. 

Alucard licked up his neck, opposite of where Dracula was nipping the sanity right out of Geralt’s mind. He let out a low, strangled growl and then bit down hard on Geralt’s neck with blunt teeth, though the pain was sharp enough that Geralt couldn’t tell if it had broken skin anyways. The sudden pain mixed with the thought of Alucard drinking from him made every muscle in Geralt’s body tighten up with shock and pleasure. He clamped down hard onto Alucard’s cock while arching up into the teeth on his neck.

That must have been enough to set Alucard off, because Geralt could feel that cock inside of him swell and pulse, shooting off wave after wave of burning hot come into him. His eyes rolled back into his head and he moaned like he was dying. It was so good, so fucking perfect, feeling Alucard throbbing inside him, marking him, filling him up. 

He was crushed between them. Held by hands and teeth, both feeling like bliss incarnate against his over sensitive skin. His heart pounded in his ears, a loud thumping that was a perfect accompaniment to the come still being released inside of him. Geralt was so wet, so slippery with sweat and lube and come. He felt ruined, messed up and marked, and it was the best damn thing he’d felt in ages. 

“There’s a good little plaything,” Dracula whispered into his ear. “That’s just perfect. Look how well you take it.” A hand slipped down his hips to slither under and touch right where Alucard was still slowly pumping into him.

Alucard let his bite go, but stayed with his face buried into Geralt’s neck. Each panted breath on his sweat-slick skin sent shivers down his spine. Geralt squirmed a little in place, rubbing forward with his chest. Fuck, but he could feel every line of Alucard’s suit. The soft silk of his tie, the cold buttons, and the hard metal of the tie pin. It felt so good to rub up into it, to be trapped between the soft material of both Dracula and Alucard’s clothing. It also made him feel that much more vulnerable, almost like he was trapped. Caught between their power and strength. 

A tiny high whimper escaped out of him as Alucard slowly, lazily almost, kept working his cock in and out. Dracula’s hand was right there, touching, feeling them both.

“Oh, surely we haven’t worn you out yet,” Dracula cooed, smirk audible in his voice. “We still need to make that hole a little more _sloppy_. I want to see come dripping out of you for days. Tomorrow, after you’ve slept and showered, still sore and aching from how well we fucked you, I want to stick my fingers inside you and feel my come still in you. I could bend you over at any time and fuck you all over again, you’d still be so wet.”

It was Alucard who made noise then, pressing his face harder into Geralt’s neck. His hips snapped up, hard, forcing a short little ‘oh’ out of Geralt. He felt full and loose, tight and wet at the same time. Everything there seemed to pulse, oversensitive and swollen. His whole body was just one naked nerve that they were both playing with however they wanted. His nose was full of their scents, his ears were ringing with the wet, obscene sound that Alucard’s cock going in made. He could hear how wet he was, how sloppy, how much come there was inside him.

“I could smell it on you,” Alucard panted into his skin. “Under your clothes. I could smell the come, feel the heat radiating off of your hole.” He pulled back enough that the head of his cock was pulling at Geralt’s rim, threatening to slip free. “I could slip my fingers down the back of your pants and just put my fingers inside you.” He pushed back in, slowly, making Geralt feel every inch of his cock going in. So deep, so far, Geralt swore he could feel it in his throat. “Two or three at once.” Alucard was panting, his cock hardening, getting bigger as he thrust again, torturing Geralt’s prostate. “Even if there were people in the room.” Another hard thrust that made Geralt whine. “You would have to be quiet, or they would see.”

Dracula’s fingers were there, feeling around Geralt’s hole, moving up to tug at his balls, make his squirm and moan like a whore before going back to tracing the shape of his stretched rim around Alucard’s cock. The fantasy they were building was so deliciously sexy, Geralt couldn’t help but picture it in his mind. Dracula forcing him to a wall, a table, a doorway and just _taking_ him. Alucard, sweet, innocent looking Alucard, sticking a hand down his pants and fingerfucking him while Geralt struggled to keep himself from letting anyone else know. He’d be so wet that they would just slip right in him, wet enough that anyone would be able to hear the soft little sounds of him getting pleasured.

“Oh that tight little hole of yours is getting so beautifully stretched,” Dracula continued on. One finger traced the edge of Geralt’s rim as he spoke. A sudden shudder of both fear and anticipation shot through Geralt’s body. Oh gods, Dracula was going to put it in right along with Alucard’s cock. 

_Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods_. Geralt might have been moaning it out loud, but he didn’t think so.

“Just let it happen,” Alucard murmured, licking along Geralt’s tendon. “You are just a hole for us to use today, nothing you can do to stop this anyway.”

Fuck, but those words were making Geralt even hotter. His dick twitched against his belly and smeared precome all over.

“Such a good little hole,” Dracula praised, pushing his finger in.

It was thick, pushing his already wrecked hole to stretch further. Geralt’s eyes rolled into his head at the sensation of the digit making its way in right along Alucard’s cock, rubbing this way and that, stretching him further.

He whimpered when Dracula pulled back and almost screamed when Dracula came back with two fingers.

“Stop, stop,” Geralt gasped out quietly, hand desperately trying to grab onto something, anything. Dracula and Alucard both stilled instantly, their breath cool on Geralt’s skin.

Those fingers inside of him were stretching him so tight, so full, it felt impossible. They held still while Geralt adjusted to that ridiculously tight fit. Every other sensation took second place to the sheer size of what was inside of him. 

Almost without thought, his body tried to clench down, but he couldn’t. Not even a little. They’d filled him up too well. Geralt’s eyes fluttered shut as he tried to breathe through it, but every little breath was barely a puff of air.

“Easy,” Dracula said softly, nuzzling into Geralt’s neck. “You’re doing well. Almost there.”

Geralt let out a soft little whine. Every second that they held still, he felt himself loosen a little more, accepting the intrusion inside of him. His body was limp against them, head lolling back onto Dracula’s shoulder and one hand clutching desperately at Alucard’s suit collar. 

A minute went by with Dracula softly lipping at his neck and Alucard’s hands rubbing along his sides. Then they slipped up to thumb over Geralt’s nipples, softly teasing their hard little peaks, sending another set of sparks through his body. Geralt whined gently, fighting against the urge to squirm into the sensation. 

Geralt’s breaths came out easier and he could feel himself relax a little more. He gave the barest of nods. It was all he had the strength for, but it was enough. Alucard started moving in him again, slowly, achingly slowly, pulling out another whine from Geralt. He was so full and wet. Come and oil must have been just dripping down Dracula’s hand by now, easing the way. 

“There we go.” Dracula nipped at his neck again, causing pleasure to pulse through him. “You’ll be feeling this for days, won’t you? And we’re not even close to done. Just _take_ it.”

Blistering heat raged through Geralt’s body as he was overcome with that thought. Healing aside, he probably really would feel this for days. A sharp, aching soreness from how thoroughly he’d been used. They wanted him, wanted to fuck him until he wasn’t good for anything else but more sex. Ready to service them whenever they wanted. 

The idea of it made him tighten up a little, and this time there seemed to be more give to his hole as he did so. Enough that Dracula started moving his fingers in and out again. He shifted them around Geralt’s rim, sliding them back and forth, so wet and tight against Alucard’s cock that Geralt thought he might cry. 

A third finger squeezed in beside the first two, and again Geralt felt that impossible tightness. That stretch that was so firm that he wasn’t sure his body could even take it. He tried to open his legs further, tried to press down into the cock and fingers inside of him, but he couldn’t really move at all. He was stuck, suspended at Dracula and Alucard’s mercy.

The fingers kept going and going, slipping up further until Dracula was knuckle deep, held flush against Alcuard’s cock. With every stroke of the cock inside of him, there was a solf squelch as more lube and come was pressed out around Dracula’s fingers. It sounded so filthy, so mind numbingly sexy. The fingers on his nipples teased harder, pinching and pulling him, forcing his chest forward rhythmically in time with the thrusting in his ass. At this point he was squirming and writhing around, unable to stop himself from moving but completely powerless to do more than that. 

For a moment, Geralt wondered if he would put another finger in. It wasn’t even really a true thought, just a half formed idea. A shudder of anticipation raced through him.

But what Dracula did was far, far more taxing.

He lazily thrust his fingers in and out, working in time with Alucard’s movements. Then he spread them open, _stretching_ Geralt’s rim.

The breath caught in Geralt’s chest and he couldn’t even breathe to scream. He just sat there, frozen as Dracula kept up the pressure, kept working him open with ruthless, merciless persistence. 

Alucard moaned into Geralt’s neck and bit down again, bruising but not breaking skin. Marking him. Staking ownership. Once they were all done with him, Geralt could almost picture himself laying in Alucard's bed, covered in come, handprints, and bruises, his neck littered with purple teeth marks. Their little fuckdoll, so loose and wet, ready and waiting for the next round. 

Over and over Dracula spread out his fingers, stretching Geralt even wider. Again, he timed his movement with Alucard’s thrusts, letting him feel that extra burn right at the deepest part of every push in. The sensation of it was almost like Alucard’s cock was growing and contracting as it fucked him, becoming impossibly thick and large as it went in, and then easing into its normal length and girth as it slid out. Every single movement rubbed into Geralt’s prostate, causing his own needy cock to twitch and leak. He was dribbling precome down Alucard’s front now. Messing him up. 

There was a distant thought that was quickly gaining power in Geralt’s mind; the unavoidable knowledge that Dracula really was going to force his massive cock into him, right alongside Alucard. A tremulous sort of excitement filled him up. He wanted them both inside of him, wanted it so badly he could taste it. But, _fuck_, he was so full already, stretched taut around the cock and fingers inside of him. 

Whatever was about to happen had completely derailed Geralt’s thought process about it. All he could do was think over and over, _yes yes yes yes_. 

Then two of Dracula’s fingers slipped out, but the last one he left in. A soft little moan escaped from Geralt’s mouth as he felt the sudden loss of some of that girth inside of him. The moan turned harsh and high as Dracula hooked that last finger around Geralt’s rim and very gently _pulled_. Opening him up, Geralt realized with shock.

“There we go.” Dracula must have been smiling as he spoke, because Geralt could feel fangs on his neck. “Let’s open up that pretty little hole.” 

There was a little shifting, and suddenly Geralt felt the large, blunt head of Dracula’s cock kiss up to his hole, right in the space pulled open by that finger. Alucard had stopped thrusting in at this point, though he continued to lick and suck at Geralt’s neck with enthusiasm. His cock twitched and throbbed deep inside Geralt’s body, hard and burningly hot. The sensation of it shifting minutely as Alucard struggled to keep himself still only made Geralt burn more. It rubbed just right up against that spot inside of him, teasing him, sending shocks of pleasure up his cock.

He was close, he knew he was close. Just a little bit more and he’d come again. Oh gods, but then he’d tighten up hard on _both_ cocks inside of him, making their penetration feel all the more impossibly full. Geralt was shaking from the thought of it, shaking with need and lust. Trembling and sweaty from how thoroughly he’d been used already. The heat between them was scorching, and being surrounded by all that fine fabric, wool and silk that was so torturously soft against his skin, only made it worse. 

Their finery was wrapped around him, so beautiful and perfect and sensual. He felt rough and unfinished next to them. Like he was made only for these carnal acts. Theirs to play with.

“Ready?” Dracula purred into his ear, lips brushing his skin.

A coil of pure love coiled up through Geralt. Even though this was the game they were playing tonight, even though he was being used, rough and fierce. Even though they were without a doubt going to break him. Dracula asked.

That more than anything else they’d done made Geralt mad with lust. Fuck, but he wanted them both in him now.

He nodded quickly, desperately, mouthing out, “Please, please, please,” over and over. Need burned through him. Nothing else mattered except getting both of those cocks inside of him. 

Geralt could take it. He’d take anything they gave him.

Then that thick head started pushing into him, and all the breath was squeezed right out of Geralt’s chest. 

It didn’t go very far at first. Even with all the stretching, the fingers and the fucking for who even knew how long, Geralt was still tight. Dracula pressed and pressed, breaking Geralt’s body and mind as he slowly put more and more pressure on his hole, thrusting right up against the cock already inside of him. Millimeter by millimeter it worked its way in. 

The tight burn of it was unbelievable. There was no conscious thought left in him any more. Nothing but the sensation. Geralt’s mouth fell open in a silent scream, but there was no breath inside of him to voice it. Just those cocks filling him up, forcing him open. 

Finally the widest part of that fat cockhead slipped in, eased by all the come that had been dripping out of him. As soon as it passed that ring of muscle, it slid in easier, slipping right up along Alucard’s length. Geralt struggled to relax around it, to let it in, but it was just so fucking huge. So damn big that he couldn’t do anything. He might have been grabbing onto someone, something, but all he really felt was how his body was being filled up. 

It just kept going. Fuller and fuller, pressing inside of him. Geralt took a shuddering breath just to ease the burning in his lungs, and tears leaked down his face. The stretched burned so fucking good. Cool puffs of breath tickled across his neck on both sides and little, sweet noises filled the air. Both Alucard and Dracula were making soft sounds, breathing and grunting in pleasure in tandem with Geralt’s aching gasps of air. 

The pleasure kept filling him up, his cock was so hard that it ached and his balls were tight up against him. The more Dracula pushed into him, the more those cocks inside of him pressed up against his nerves, drumming the sensation of fullness right up his dick. 

Finally Dracula stopped, and Geralt let out a pained whimper at the pleasure of it. He couldn’t move, couldn’t think. He couldn’t even see. He lived through the sensations of both of his lovers deep inside of him, his fingers on soft fabric, and his own cock jerking needily up against Alucard’s stomach.

And then Alucard shifted, just a little, and Geralt was screaming again as his orgasm overtook him. He rocked up, twisting against the crushing hold on him as pleasure overwhelmed every sense. With every convolution, he spurted out more come, quickly covering himself as well as Alucard’s stomach. It soaked into the fabric and rubbed up against his cock as he twisted, making the pleasure that much more intense. 

The last aftershocks of his orgasm didn’t even pass as he felt Dracula sink his teeth into his neck. The pain and pleasure of it made him gasp and jerk in the hold they had on him, tightening again on the cocks inside him. There were tears in his eyes from how full, how _much_ it all felt. He was still reeling from the orgasm but Dracula was already pushing pleasure into him, powerful and almost painful in its intensity, it wiped all coherent thought, all control out of his mind. His body thrashed and heated up, cock hard again almost instantly, making Geralt dizzy. He was thrashing and making sounds, screaming maybe, he couldn’t tell, made blind and deaf by the pleasure scouring him.

“Oh Gods,” Geralt gasped through a raw throat.

Dracula chucked behind him, his hands sliding slowly down Geralt’s sides until they rested on Geralt’s hips.

“That felt nice,” Dracula murmured. “How about repeat performance?”

But Geralt had no words left. Only more incoherent moans of wanton pleasure. He was floating on bliss, body nothing but a throbbing vessel for more pleasure.

He’d barely managed a broken groan before Alucard and Dracula both were moving inside of him, Dracula’s iron grip holding his hips in place. He couldn’t move at all, not in any way that mattered. Each thrust slammed into him as he was held down, forced into meeting that thrust. 

Sensation was everywhere. There was the full, heavy pounding that rocked into him, the heat of their bodies, and the heavy scent of sex and power. He was drenched in sweat and come, it was being smeared into him, marking him just as thoroughly as any bite mark could. After so much rubbing and grinding, even the ultra fine fabric of Alucard and Dracula’s suits was starting to feel rough on his skin, scratching into him, rubbing him a little raw. It was even worse on his cock, still so swollen and painfully aroused.

There were hands on him and mouths, but he couldn't tell whose, he didn’t even care. He just let himself be taken over, filled with sensation, pleasure so strong it blotted out everything else.

A hand wrapped around his cock, stroking, and he came again, screaming in ecstacy. That rough, firm grip worked him over in time with the pounding his ass was taking, milking every last drop out of him.

More teeth. More biting. He came over and over again. So wrung out, he wasn’t even sure he was producing any come. Hot, wet fluid filled him up, scorching him. Spasms wrecked him, making him tighten again and again on the unbearable intrusion and it was just too much. Too much inside him, too much pleasure, just too much everything.

With one last, agonized moan, his eyes fluttered closed and everything went dark.

\--

Geralt floated back into consciousness to the sensation of warm, wet touch along his thighs and fingers in his sensitive hole.

He was so warm, everything was so warm. There were soft blankets under his hands and warm skin pressed next to his back. Those fingers inside of him pressed up against his sore rim, working a small whine out of him. 

“Shh,” Alucard’s voice was low and soft, the wet touch a washcloth, Geralt realized. “You're okay.”

“More than okay,” Dracula purred, pushing his fingers a little deeper inside Geralt. “Very pretty.”

Heat flared across Geralt’s cheeks as he realized what was going on. They’d fucked him until he passed out and then he had woken up again with Dracula’s fingers still inside of him. 

“Father, really.” Alucard chided softly as he moved to dragging the warm, wet washcloth over Geralt’s groin. The touch was gentle, barely there really, but it was enough to make Geralt squirm, oversensitivity settling in.

He realized Dracula was behind him, pressed to his back while Alucard was sitting in front of him, a small bowl with a steaming pile of washcloths inside.

Geralt blinked weakly, trying to focus his eyes. It was hard, though. So very hard. His body felt heavy and weak, and the world still seemed hazy. 

“I’m just helping,” Dracula said innocently, thrusting his fingers inside Geralt a little harder. “There’s still so much slick leaking out of him.”

Another tiny gasp worked out of Geralt’s throat, needy and high. Pleasure coiled up again inside of his groin and he tried to arch into Dracula’s hold. 

Alucard hummed a little, clearly not buying it. He reached behind Geralt and took hold of one cheek, pulling it to stretch Geralt’s hole that little bit more. Then the warm washcloth was pressing to the rim, the soft material feeling rougher against his swollen flesh, making Geralt squirm again.

“Oh,” Geralt said softly, and then bit his lower lip. Fuck, but even now after they’d used him, fucked him into oblivion, his lovers were still manhandling him. Moving him around as they liked. He’d felt so vulnerable while they were strong and impressive looking around him earlier, and that feeling had carried over. 

They were naked, he realized. Dracula’s smooth, scarless body was pressed against his back, radiating furnace-like heat. Alucard was naked too, his hair messy and loose, falling all around his shoulders and onto Geralt, the ends tickling his skin.

Geralt’s body was sore and aching everywhere, but it was a delicious kind of hurt. He was nearly boneless with it, moving only the tiniest bit. But with how those hands on him, in him, caressed his body, he couldn’t help but try to squirm.

“You broke him,” Alucard did not sound chiding at all then, there was too much soft awe in his voice.

“And you are loving every moment of it, aren’t you?” Dracula purred, his legs shifting behind Geralt, one knee forcing its way between Geralt’s.

It never even occurred to Geralt to try and resist the movement. He went with it, letting his body fall easily to whatever Dracula wanted to do. They would take care of him.

Alucard exhaled, long and slow, turning to put the used washcloth away and take a new one, which he then spread over his hand and used that to wrap around Geralt’s cock and stroked.

Geralt gasped and whined at the same time, almost choking himself on the sound. His hand flailed for something to hold on to as Alucard slowly jerked him over the hot cloth, his grip firm but the sensation strangely muted by the washcloth. It felt good and too much, he was still too sensitive at the moment, body not yet recovered.

“Yes,” Alucard admitted, stroking Geralt from root to tip, slowly and luxuriously. As he worked, those fingers inside of him pushed in and out, fucking his hole in time with each stroke.

Shudders rolled through Geralt’s body and he couldn’t decide if he needed to get away from the sensation or grind into it. Either way, he was getting hard again. Slowly but surely. 

The merciless cleaning went on until Geralt’s cock was fully hard again. Then the cloth went away, leaving his swollen dick to bob and twitch, neglected and so, so achingly tender. 

Alucard laid down then, scooting closer to Geralt until he could take his face into his hands and kiss him. Slow and unhurried, he licked in slowly and deeply, as if he had all the time in the world.

“I’m glad you’re awake,” Alucard murmured between kisses, body now flush against Geralt’s front. 

Geralt couldn’t help the small huff of pleasure at how good it felt to have his cock pressed into that hard belly.

He nodded, a quick little movement. Geralt was glad to be awake too, and especially glad to be trapped between Alucard and Dracula again. That was the safest place he knew of, and knowing that they wanted him there made pleasure and heat coil up in his body. 

“Yes,” he managed to say, though it was an effort. Words seemed difficult for him. 

“Are you both having fun without me?” Dracula asked, leaning closer and biting with blunt teeth at Geralt’s shoulder.

A shiver raced through Geralt’s body and he leaned into those teeth on his skin. “Please,” he said quietly, though he had absolutely no idea what he was asking for. It didn’t even matter to him. All that mattered was that he wanted whatever they would give him.

Alucard reached down for Geralt’s leg and pulled it onto his hip, opening Geralt wide.

“You are so good for us,” Alucard murmured, his hand leaving Geralt’s knee and going for his ass again. He touched around Dracula’s fingers, traced the swollen rim with careful, cool fingers.

“Let me lead you into him?” he asked, his voice hitching just a tiny bit.

Geralt could feel Alucard moving, stretching and then the sounds of skin on skin, Dracula’s breathing changing. He barely made a sound usually so Geralt got used to listening to the changes in his breathing patterns. Then he felt the touch of Alucard’s fingers again, followed by Dracula’s cock. The head felt just as big as ever, but when he pressed it went in easier, so much easier. He blushed at the wet sound his hole made, at the feel of slick leaking out of him at the penetration. He moaned at the sensation of the thick head spreading him and sinking in deep. Dracula went slow, pushing with undeniable force until he was all the way in, his hips flush against Geralt’s ass.

Alucard kissed him again, licking in deep, not letting up even as Dracula fucked him slow and smooth, gently pulling out until Geralt could feel the press of the head against his rim, just about to slip free and back in again. He could only gasp and breath into Alucard’s mouth, hands holding on to him as Dracula took him slowly. It felt good, the stretch easier to bear now, the heat of the three of them, the knowledge of how much he was wanted. Alucard didn't let up on the kissing, licking and sucking at Geralt’s lips until they too felt swollen and sensitive.

“Do you want me to jerk you off?” Alucard asked against his lips, his hand on Geralt’s hip making little circles.

Geralt actually had to force himself to think for a moment. This slow, easy pleasure was so good, so soft and sweet. If Alucard started to work his cock over, it would feel great, no doubt about it, but it would make things a little sharper, a little harsher. He furrowed his brow as he tried to make sense of it.

“Doesn’t---” he had to pause to lick his lips and take a breath. Dracula was moving so deliciously inside of him, making his whole body tingle and shiver. “Doesn’t matter. I’m good… good for you both. However you want.” He swallowed again, throat dry and eyes hazy. “Just be…” Again words failed him, and he dug around in his brain to find the right ones. “I’ll be good. Please.”

He loved the idea of them caring for him, touching him and bringing them all pleasure. It wasn’t often that Geralt got that, and even less before he’d met Dracula and Alucard. Even after they’d all met and fallen into bed together, he didn’t often feel this almost innocent vulnerability. They were so strong, in him, around him. Filling up all the world with their scent and power. Geralt wanted that feeling of being treasured and cared for to last as long as possible. 

“I like you messy,” Dracula sounded strained, a clear sign of him getting closer to orgasm. “I like you aware of all the ways I can take you, have you, own you.” Then Dracula was biting with blunt teeth at the back of Geralt’s neck, his hands closing over Geralt’s hips hard as he sped up. He thrust up harder, faster for the last few minutes before he stilled, pushed to the hilt and circled his hips as his cock grew bigger and twitched inside Geralt, spilling hot spurt after hot spurt of come inside him. 

It felt so good, Dracula pulsing inside of him. Geralt’s cock throbbed in time with his heart, and he let out a soft, happy noise. He wanted to curl up between them and stay this way forever. Warm, cared for, and well loved.

“I like you feeling me inside you, my come leaking out of you.” Dracula was resting his forehead against the back of Geralt’s neck. “You are so good for us, I don’t want to ever let you out of this bed.”

Alucard was right there through it all, kissing Geralt, holding him, offering the softest of touches. Each point of contact sang on his skin, tingling and perfect. He was so warm, burning and hazy with arousal and happiness. The feel of Dracula pressed into his skin and still softly pulsing in his wet hole was glorious, and Alucard’s gentle, soothing touches were the perfect counterpoint. He tried to press back into Dracula while pulling Alucard along with him, pressing them all closer together.

Staying in bed forever sounded like a wonderful idea. Geralt was one hundred percent for it.

“Love you,” Geralt whispered in between kisses, his voice low and rough. His heart felt painfully full, he was so happy. “Want this forever. Both of you.” He nuzzled into Alucard’s jaw and snaked a hand back to grip Dracula’s hip. “You make me so happy.”

There was a tug, somewhere deep in his chest, a sort of clicking sensation and then he heard Dracula murmur in his ear again.

“_Deal_.”

A little noise of confusion came out of him, but he couldn’t find it in himself to be terribly concerned. Thinking about it threatened to pull him out of the floating, blissful state that he’d fallen into, and his mind struggled with it for a moment. 

“Father!” Alucard sounded chiding, but there was an edge of mirth in his voice. “Again? Really?”

“What…” Geralt licked his lips, still writhing between them. Sensation pulled at his mind, making it so hard to think. Everything felt so good. “What did I just agree to?”

“He asked for it,” Dracula did not sound chided at all, rather smug to be honest.

A little more sanity forced itself back into Geralt and he took a steadying breath. “Dracula,” he said, though there was still an edge of desperate pleasure to his voice. “What deal did I just make?”

He tried to shift a little, turning his head to get a look at Dracula’s face.

“You asked to spend an eternity with us, and he agreed.” Alucard sighed. “He might as well tattoo his ownership on your skin at the rate he is going with the deals.”

A warm laugh bubbled up from Geralt, and he pulled both of them a little closer. “I thought I’d already agreed to that.”

“One can never have enough deals,” Dracula still sounded smug. “the tattoo sounds good though.”

Geralt snorted in amusement, and let his eyes fall shut again. All that skin contact was fantastic, and he was determined to enjoy it as much as possible. 

“You already owned my soul,” he said happily. “I thought you already had my body, too, but you needed a little more, huh.”

“I merely delivered your wish,” Dracula said innocently.

Something about that wording stuck an unhappy cord in him, and Geralt shuddered. He’d had wishes that only led to bittersweet loss. 

His grip on them both tightened and he twisted around, trying to face Dracula again. 

“Don’t leave me. Please, please, whatever happens, if I forget, if we get mad, if something bad happens. Please,” he begged, a little desperate. He’d loved with all his heart once and made a wish to twine his fate with another, and even that wasn’t enough to make it work. His heart couldn’t bear for that to happen again.

“Geralt...” Alucard sounded worried.

“I’m immortal. I cannot be killed. I am not going anywhere.” Dracula said with a rough growl to his voice.

Geralt swallowed hard, eyes stinging a little. He nodded, short and sharp. “Alright. Alright. I just…” He shook his head, feeling a little sore inside. “My wishes don’t always go very well.”

“Deals I make are for _my_ benefit, not yours,” Dracula purred. 

Geralt looked at him. They were too tightly wrapped together for him to see more than just out of the corner of his eye, but that was enough to get a look at Dracula’s burning red eyes. He thought he knew what Dracula meant by that, but Geralt was still feeling weak and off kilter, fuzzy minded from the intense fucking and off balance from the mention of wishes. 

“Each deal I make,” Dracula said quietly. “ensures I get something I want out of it. That’s the big secret nobody seems to understand. Deals are for _me_.”

Geralt nodded slowly. He thought he knew that, but his brain was still stunned and a little sluggish. “What can I do for you? What do you want out of this deal?”

“I’m pretty pleased with the literal conditions of this particular one.”

“Dracula, please,” Geralt closed his eyes and sighed. “You have literally fucked my mind away. Tell me.”

“You,” Dracula said, sounding a little surprised. “I get _you_.”

Shivers broke out across Geralt’s skin, racing over him. Something like a mix of relief and hope poured through him. “Me. You want me with you. That’s what you get out of it.”

“Of course. Haven’t I been clear about my wish to _have_ you?”

Geralt’s cheeks heated up a little and he looked at Dracula through his lashes. He tried for a smile, but it came out a little rueful, he thought. “You have.” 

_But you wouldn’t be the first to make sweet promises and then have things go to shit anyways_, he thought sadly. 

“His deals cannot be broken, you know,” Alucard said gently. “They can be extended if circumstances allow, but they are utterly unavoidable. The only way to end the deal is to pay it up fully.”

Geralt knew that. He _knew_ it. Maybe it was the long, painful injury and recovery, or the mind breaking sex, or the soft, vulnerable way he felt during that and now after, but Geralt was having a hard time remembering that his life was different now. His lovers wouldn’t ever leave him, nor would he leave them. He didn’t want to, not even a little. That craving to be cared for, to have both Alucard and Dracula be powerful and in control came back with a vengeance. It wasn’t something that happened very often, but he felt anxious to go with it. To ride that experience as far as they would let him.

Another shiver ripped through him as he realized Dracula’s cock was still hard inside of him, and Alucards hands were gently rubbing him up and down, petting over his whole body.

“I’ll be very good for you,” Geralt said softly. He licked his lips and squirmed up against them. Some of his arousal had flagged as they spoke, but by no means all. Hot, wet come dripped down from his hole where he and Dracula were still joined, and he could feel his nipples tighten up under Alucard’s roaming hands. “Please tell me what you want me to do. How can I make you both happy?”

“You already are a delight,” Alucard chimed in. “Also, don’t spoil him, he’ll be impossible to deal with.” 

The easy way Alucard talked, so light and amused, only set Geralt more at ease. That pleasant buzzing under his skin was coming back, making him smile and try to rub up against them both. 

“Maybe just for today then,” Geralt said, feeling a little dazed. “I’ll have more fight in me later. For right now, though…” 

He shifted his hips, minutely pushing Dracula’s cock in and out of him. The movement was a small, casual thing, more to increase the sensation of Dracula inside of him than to actually start riding his cock. It was just so damn good to be filled and held and loved.

“For now, whatever you like,” Geralt finished off dreamily. His body still ached from the fucking he’d already taken, and he was more than happy to rest and go with the flow. 

He let his head fall to the side, leaving his neck open to both Dracula and Alucard. Whether or not they bit didn’t even matter to him. He was content with making the offer. 

Dracula was not one for restraint, Geralt knew that already and it did not surprise him, the soft, pleased growl Dracula made when leaning in towards Geralt’s neck.

Just before his lips made contact, Geralt’s stomach _growled_.

Dracula paused, just just a hair's breadth away from Geralt’s skin and then pulled back.

“Hungry?”

Geralt blinked a little. He honestly hadn’t even noticed. “I...guess?”

“That was a rather fierce sound,” Dracula was laughing at him and not even being subtle about it.

“I am a very fierce witcher,” Geralt said sagely. He nodded his head, still feeling a little floaty from all the touching. “I’ve very appropriately terrified both Matt and John.”

Probably.

Maybe.

Honestly, John and Matt were likely more terrified of Eskel. And perhaps the _potential_ that they could see Geralt having, once he was well again. He could see it in Matt’s eyes every time Eskel trained in front of them. There was a worried line to his eyebrow as he looked back and forth between them, and Geralt could tell he was trying to compare what Eskel was doing to what Geralt might be able to do.

“It’s fortunate that we have food waiting, then.” Alucard was already scooting away and getting up from the bed, his naked body pale and long, a feast for the eyes.

As lovely as it was to get such a nice view of Alucard, he was a little disappointed that his lover wasn’t touching him anymore. He shifted again, and his eyes fluttered at the sensation of Dracula’s cock still stretching him open, so thick and good. 

“You gonna---” he had to pause to take a shuddering breath. “You gonna let me get up? Or keep me here, spread open on your cock.”

“I don’t see how anything I’m doing could possibly get in the way of your food.” Dracula said innocently, his hips circling just a tiny bit, pushing at the sensitive spots and making Geralt gasp.

Gods, but he was still so sensitive! Almost on reflex, his body tried to tighten up, to clench down on the cock inside of him. It didn’t help matters one bit. The tightening only made Dracula feel that much larger inside of him, and forced a little extra hot fluid out of Geralt’s hole, to drip down his ass.

They hadn’t even really started anything, but Geralt already felt weak and needy. Like their first round of fucking had never really ended.

“Yes, please, oh fuck,” Geralt whispered. His cock twitched hard against his stomach and he felt feverishly hot. He nodded again. 

Food was about the furthest thing from his mind, but he would happily eat if it meant Dracula would keep lavishing attention on him. A little voice in the back of his head told him that he really did need the food. Regardless of being healed, his body had been dangerously depleted and it still showed. Stopping to eat would be the sensible thing. 

At the moment, Geralt could care less about the sensible thing. Dracula’s cock was still buried deep inside of him, warm hands were stroking up and down his sides, and teeth nipped delicately at his neck. Each little touch sent surges of pleasure through him, keeping him hard and aching with want. 

But Dracula seemed intent on just teasing him. Before Geralt could ask for more, Dracula slowly pulled his cock out of Geralt’s ass. That long, smooth slide made Geralt’s cheeks burn and his heart pound a little faster, and he took a sharp inhale. As that fat cockhead left Geralt’s sore hole, a rush of fluids came out with it.

“You’re so messy,” Dracula said smugly, reaching down to trail a finger across Geralt’s fluttering hole. It wouldn’t quite close, and come dripped out of him, trickling over Dracula’s roaming fingers, down his ass, and onto the bed under them. “Covered in our come. Marked.” 

He ran his lips over the back of Geralt’s neck, pausing to bite lightly there. Given how many times he’d done that in the past several hours, there had to be a pretty nice bruise forming up, but Geralt honestly couldn’t even tell. His body was sore as could be, but he was also still a little high on endorphins, spacey and buzzed from the whole encounter and worked into a froth from all the fucking.

All he felt was pleasure at Dracula’s soft attentions. The teeth on his neck felt like the best kind of kiss, and he loved the idea that his lover’s scent would be all over him. 

The bed dipped a little as Alucard settled himself next to them, plate of tiny finger foods and bottle with a straw in hand. Looking at that bottle and the water sloshing inside made Geralt suddenly realize just how thirsty he was; he licked his lips and tried to shift up a little.

Not that he got far. His body still wasn’t interested in cooperating with him. But after only a moment of struggling to make himself sit up right, Dracula’s strong hands eased him up the rest of the way. They both settled next to the headboard, with Geralt mostly leaning on Dracula’s chest. 

The moment he was upright, a fresh trickle of come flowed out of him. Heat stole across Geralt’s face again as he shivered at the sensation. A tiny little, _oh_, escaped him and he squirmed in Dracula’s arms.

“Don’t worry. We’ll make sure you’re filled up again,” Dracula said quietly in his ear. The grin was audible, and from the look on Alucard’s face, he was more than interested in the same thing. 

“Drink first,” Alucard said, holding up the bottle and straw to his mouth. 

Geralt hesitated a moment. Outside of recovering from injury, no one had ever helped like this. Held a drink for him so he wouldn’t have to. It left a strange fluttering feeling in his chest and a little more heat coiled up inside of him.

The first sip was bliss. Cool and delicious. He hadn’t realized how dry his throat had gotten. 

When he was done with his drink, Dracula’s hand was waiting with a little piece of fruit.

Again, Geralt’s brain stuttered for a moment, and that fluttering sensation in his chest grew. He turned his head to look at Dracula, a little confused. 

“You’re ours,” Dracula said simply. “To play with, to break, to care for. Open your mouth.”

Alucard gave a tiny snort at the last few words but Geralt didn’t care. He opened his mouth, letting the sweet fruit be pushed into his mouth and closed his lips against Dracula’s fingers, sucking them in. He licked at the retreating pads before chewing the fruit and swallowing it.

“This is my favorite sushi roll,” Alucard said and there was something else being pressed against his mouth. “It’s tempura fried shrimp with avocado and mild cheese.” Geralt opened up obediently, letting the piece inside and did his best to lip at Alucard’s fingers too, the taste of rice and spices being chased by the taste of Alucard’s skin.

It was delicious, and only made more so by the fact that it was Alucard’s hand he was eating it from. Something told him that under more normal circumstances, Geralt might have something smart to say. Some way of turning the tables a little and keeping both Dracula and Alucard on their toes. 

But right now, this simple act of feeding only left Geralt feeling more humbled. Tender and cared for. They’d spent hours thoroughly using him, reminding him he was there for their pleasure. They both seemed so strong and powerful, and Geralt left at their mercy. Every little bite and sip of food reinforced that, and only added to the relaxed, floating feeling swirling in Geralt’s head. 

He opened his mouth when they wanted, taking small bite after small bite, chasing each one with licks at their fingers, sucking if he managed to get them to be still for long enough. As they slowly fed him, hands roamed up and down his body, tracing his muscles, gently teasing him. 

“There we go,” Dracula whispered into his ear as Geralt licked his fingers. “There’s a good wolf. Take what we give you.”

Geralt couldn't really even form a coherent answer. Everything felt too good. The tastes, the scents in the air. Alucard and Dracula around him, touching him so sweetly. His body thrummed with pleasure and his heart felt full near to bursting. The best he could do was try to squirm into the hands on him, arching up with tiny little movements.

He barely even realized it when the plate was empty. He’d been too wrapped up in the enjoyment of the act. 

“Beautiful,” Dracula said softly, running a hand down Geralt’s side. “And still so ready for us. Did you enjoy our attentions so much?”

Geralt blinked and looked down. His cock was hard and leaking a little. He’d been so swamped with pleasure that he’d not even really noticed that his interest hadn’t flagged at all during the meal. More than that, he felt cared for, treasured in a way that he was entirely unaccustomed to. 

“I…” Geralt started, then he had to pause to swallow. Thinking was very difficult. He shook his head a little. “That was very nice,” he said finally, voice rough. “Thank you.” 

He made sure to look at both Dracula and Alucard. The thanks was for both of them. 

“It was our pleasure,” Alucard said with a smirk, his eyes darting down Geralt’s body. 

“A pleasure I’m sure we will be enjoying again soon,” Dracula added.

As Alucard moved off the bed to go put the plate and bottle away, Geralt tried to blink a little more sanity back into his head. He’d been in the bed a rather long time and now that he was fed and hydrated, his body was making other demands. 

“I need to…” he waved a hand towards the bathroom. Words were hard. Hand gestures would have to do.

Dracula released his hold on Geralt’s body, sliding his hands off and away. “Hurry back.” The words were filled with dark promise, and Geralt found himself shivering again with anticipation.

Getting off the bed was another feat entirely. Now that he was actually moving, he realized just how damn sore he was. Every muscle _ached_, both from the sudden hours of exercise after days and days of nothing, and from all the bruises that were scattered across his skin. He had teeth marks and handprints and hickeys spread all across his body. Now that he wasn’t held right on the verge of coming, each one was making itself known.

After some groaning and stilted movement, Geralt finally managed to get to the edge of the bed and stand up. The moment he did, another trickle of fluids leaked out of his ass, down his already messy thighs. 

“Oh fuck,” Geralt moaned, both a little embarrassed and a lot turned on.

“Isn’t this a pretty wolf,” Dracula said, sounding pleased as hell. He was lounging up against the headboard, naked and powerful looking. His eyes burned red and there was a hungry little smile on his face. “Such a good look on you,” he all but sighed.

Geralt wanted to crawl back onto the bed and lick every part of him, embarrassed and turned on.

_Other things to do first_, he reminded himself. _Being mortal has its downsides_. 

At this point he was used to having a difficult time walking across the large room to get to the bathroom. But, gods, he did not expect to be so damn wobbly. His ass was so sore, so tender and still slowly leaking come. Walking was awkward as hell, and it was made only more so by Dracula leering at him from on the bed. 

“Very pretty,” Alucard said in agreement, sounding dreamy and pleased like a person after a large and rich meal.

Correction. With _both_ Dracula and Alucard leering at him. The blush on his face burned a little hotter, but some part of him curled up in pleasure at the attention, too. 

He paused about half way there and looked over his shoulder. 

Sure enough, Dracula had started to lean forward just a touch, like a predator watching a prime prey animal wander away. Alucard looked almost as hungry, his eyes glowing gold on their black background. 

That fluttery feeling was back in Geralt’s chest, that wonderful sense of vulnerability. But so too had some of Geralt’s need to tempt.

He ran a hand down his side, then over his ass. Gods, he was so wet from them. He’d lost track of how many times they’d come in him, and it showed. It was easy to get some of that come on his fingers. Easier still to lift up his hand to take in the scent.

A warning growl from across the room stopped him in place. Dracula’s eyes had gone bright as hot coals, and his hunger was a palpable thing. 

“If you want to reach that bathroom,” Alucard said in a deceptively mild voice, one of his hands closed over Dracula’s forearm. “I suggest you do it now.”

As delicious an idea as it was to have Dracula chase him down and fuck him right into the floor, Geralt knew that this would likely be his only chance for a break. So rather than embarrass himself sometime in the future, he nodded and made his way to the bathroom. 

Maybe some other time he might try to tempt Dracula into a little chase. Could be fun. 

It took longer than he expected to relieve himself and clean up, just because once he got a look in the mirror he realized just how messy he really was. While he knew that Dracula enjoyed the mess, he also knew that Alucard did not. Well. Alucard liked the _act_ of getting messy, but was a very fastidious person. He enjoyed being promptly clean afterwards. So Geralt took an extra few minutes to wet a washcloth and wipe himself down a little more. They’d all enjoy making him messy again anyways, so why not?

He tried not to notice just how thin he’d gotten, or just how widespread the surgical scars were. That would all be remedied in time. As long as Alucard and Dracula didn’t mind, he would make an effort not to be bothered by it either. Judging by how enthusiastically they fucked him, they didn’t mind one bit.

By the time he opened the bathroom door and started to make his shaky way back over to the bed, he noticed that there were new sheets and blankets on the bed. Alucard was just smoothing out the top blanket as he walked out. 

A quick glance around showed that Dracula had retreated to his favorite leather chair, sprawled in it like the king he was through looking a little sulky. He hadn’t bothered to redress, so Geralt was treated with the wonderful view of that pale, powerful body lounging in full view. From the slightly grumpy look, it was obvious he’d been kicked out of the bed so that Alucard could put down fresh sheets.

Geralt held back a snicker. He was almost sorry he missed it. But this new seating arrangement did give him a wicked idea.

He altered his course and slowly made his wobbly way over to where Dracula sat. As soon as he made the change in direction, Dracula’s eyes were on him, and a little bit of the grumpiness was exchanged for interest. 

Geralt watched him and couldn’t stop feeling the little shudder of want, the thread of appreciation and need fill him up again. Gods but Dracula was hot. Powerful and confident, he was an amazing sight. A few feet before Geralt got to the chair, he knelt down, getting onto his hands and knees. He kept his eyes up on Dracula’s face as he crawled the last few steps forward, moving right up between Dracula’s legs. It made him hot, to do this, to get down on the floor for him, and see the expression of sharp hunger on Dracula’s face as he stared at him. Once there, Geralt rested on his knees and nuzzled into the soft skin of Dracula’s inner thigh. Not so high up that it was presumptuous; he wanted it to be an offer, not a demand. The lingering traces of soreness fled again under the burning lust arousal that filled him up. He was hard again, his cock heavy between his legs, and his face was hot with blushing. There, he waited for whatever Dracula wanted to do.

Dracula put his hand on top of Geralt’s head.

“You are a delight,” he murmured, low and slow, “but you play with fire.”

Some of Geralt’s normal attitude came back, and he had to smile a little ruefully. “I don’t know how to play safe. And I trust you to never break me too much.”

Dracula was petting his head, like Geralt was a favorite cat.

“If you think you are done for today you are sorely mistaken. I have such plans for you,” his voice was very low, very raspy. “I will make you come many times still, and each time you will be speared on somebody’s cock. I will have you ride Alucard for as long as he wants, and after you came I will put my mouth on your cock and have you fuck into it while still spread out on Alucard’s dick. How long do you think it will take you?” Dracula’s hand was sliding down from Geralt’s hair to his face, petting the side of his face and neck.

Every filthy word that Dracula cooed out made Geralt practically twitch with want. His eyes fluttered shut and he leaned into Dracula’s hand, and his breath was starting to come out in short pants. The very idea of it was wonderful and made all sense fly right out of Geralt’s head. He wanted to feel it so badly, to feel Alucard’s cock in him and Dracula’s mouth on him at the same time. Gods, he didn’t often get that treat, and he was very ready to experience it.

“I won’t breathe power into you,” Dracula was murmuring almost meditatively, pushing his fingers at Geralt’s mouth, until he opened and let them in. “I like you like this, exhausted and fucked out but still so willing.”

Dracula chuckled softly.

“I've barely touched you and you are so hard already. I bet your hole is sore, so swollen and sensitive by now, but you still want to be fucked, you still _went on your knees_ for me.” Dracula’s voice became fierce and dark then. “I want to drag you up onto my lap and force you down on my cock, make you ride me. I want to pull on your nipples, make them red and puffy for days so that you won't even be able to put on a shirt.”

By now Geralt was shivering from the images Dracula was putting into his mind, all but shaking with need. He sucked on the fingers in his mouth, leaning forward a little to get as much in as he could. A dozen different things popped into his mind to say. Like how much he wanted Dracula, or how much each one of those filthy ideas delighted him. Maybe just begging, or something else to tempt Dracula into action. Over all that was how happy he was, how ready he was to try and share the happiness that was glowing inside of him. 

He’d drop to his knees for Dracula again and again, and be thrilled with the ability to do so.

But his mouth was all full up already, so the best he could do was lick and suck with enthusiasm and try to fill his eyes with every word he didn’t have the ability to say. A soft whine escaped him and he leaned forward a little more. 

“I will get you wet and messy again, so that Alucard can have his fun with you. How did he say it? He liked the sloppy seconds, didn’t he?”

Another shudder raced through Geralt’s body and he sucked hard on the fingers in his mouth. Then he slowly pulled back, sucking them as he went, until they slipped out of him with a soft pop. From there, he nuzzled into Dracula’s palm, rubbing the side of his face into it like a cat. Already the world seemed a little hazy around him, and his body tightened up over and over from the thoughts racing through his head.

“Yes,” Geralt said, voice rough. He nosed into Dracula’s palm again. “Yes, all of that. I want to feel your cock in me, your mouth on me. I fucking love having both of you in bed, fucking me so good. Gods, the way you make me feel. I want to lick you both up, try to see if I can get both of you in my mouth at the same time. Every mark and lick and bite.” His eyes went nearly closed as he thought it over, pictured each situation in his mind and imagined what it would feel like. “Want to feel my cock in your mouth with Alucard inside of me. I want to suck your cock here while you sit in this chair, taste your come in my throat. Every chance I get, every time I see either of you, I just want to fuck you both until none of us can walk straight.”

He scooted in a little closer to Dracula’s body. “Please. Let me.”

Dracula growled then, low enough it vibrated through Geralt’s chest. “You love to push me, don’t you?”

A shaking, breathy sigh came out of Geralt.

“He really does,” it was Alucard, coming close so quietly Geralt didn’t even hear him. He jumped when he felt a hand on his back, between his shoulder blades. Cool and just very faintly calloused, it slid slowly down to the small of his back.

Geralt shook his head a little. “Not trying to, not today. Just---” he arched into Alucard’s touch and licked his lips. “Just love you. Both of you. I want you so bad.”

Dracula hummed, so deep it may as well have been another growl, and this time Geralt could feel the pleasure and hunger shivering in the shadows around them. The hand that Geralt was rubbing his face into curled up to run through Geralt’s hair once again. 

“So good for us,” Dracula said quietly, his eyes a burning, soft red. He leaned forward, slipping a hand around Geralt’s chest and pulling him up. “Come here. Let’s give all of us what we want.”

Geralt went willingly, arching into the hands pulling him up. Yes. This was what he wanted today, to be cherished and touched. He wanted to be fucked and broken, wanted to hear the sounds of pleasure he could give his lovers. He needed to feel them, have them close. He ached to have the proof of all of them being alive and healthy and free to enjoy this moment, no matter what future might bring.

Geralt _wanted_, and for the first time in his life, he could have everything he yearned for.

\---


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes from Quarra: Hey folks! The end is nigh! The story, I mean. But do not despair! There is quite a lot of addition stories already written in this series, still in the editing process. So if you're enjoying this fic then bookmark the series and stay tuned for all the new stuff that pops up!
> 
> Everyone stay healthy, and Happy Father's Day to those who celebrate, and Happy June to those who don't.

Two days.

Two days, straight through the first night and edging into a second night.

That’s how long Matt’s office was under occupation and his boss was MIA in his own damn bedroom. The only reason he hadn’t lined the reinforced doors with explosives and stormed the penthouse by now was the fact the trolleys with empty plates were set outside. When John tentatively set fresh food in front of the door, those were taken into the room after a while.

So, his boss was alive and eating.

Matt hoped?

It also helped that Eskel didn’t seem worried at all. Grumpy, yes. Possibly a little more than he usually was, which was saying something. But he didn’t seem concerned. 

Which was great, because Eskel had basically moved into Matt’s office for the duration of this little blackout episode. 

Sometime at the end of the first day, Matt had asked him about it.

“You’re not going to go up to sleep?” Matt said, looking across his desk to where Eskel was absently shuffling a deck of cards.

“Nope.”

Matt waited a moment. Nothing else was forthcoming, though. He sighed.

“There are other rooms up there,” he pointed out.

“I know.” Eskel didn’t even bother looking up at him. “Best to give them some space.”

“Right.” 

Matt looked at his clean desk. He’d just shoved everything in its appropriate spot, organized to be ready for the next day’s work. 

He _was_ going to go home. Or maybe hit up the bar with John. But he felt a little uncomfortable about leaving Eskel in his office alone, both because it seemed rude and because it was a worrying security risk. Not that he thought Eskel would deliberately mess anything up, but good habits died hard. 

After a moment of thought, he rubbed his eyes and sighed.

“Should I ask John to get you a room somewhere? Or set up a bed in an extra office?”

“Nah. I don’t need the sleep.” Eskel flipped through his deck slowly, eyeing each card with a proprietary interest.

Of course he didn’t.

“You can go home if you want,” Eskel added, finally looking up at Matt. “I’m just trying to stay out of the way of your people here. Figured this was as good a spot as any.”

“Thank you,” Matt said, somewhat surprised and pleased. It hadn’t occurred to him that Eskel would actually try to be less of an annoyance. Although, in retrospect, it should have. Eskel seemed to be an unobtrusive person by nature; quiet, courteous, and reserved. 

That just made Matt feel a little more guilty about leaving him here alone. 

_The man is a goddamn career soldier. He can sleep alone in an office and be alright_, Matt thought to himself. 

He sat there a minute with his lips pursed. Then he grabbed his phone, sighing again as he texted John.

_No go on bar tonight. Eskel’s stuck in my office for the night._

A moment later, John texted him back:

_Oh snap. Alright. Food is on its way. I’m not sending booze, but there is lots and lots of extra in the kitchen. GOOD LUCK._

Matt snorted in amusement, and typed back a quick thanks. 

“You mentioned a treatment,” Matt asked cautiously. “Do you even know what they are doing up there?”

“Yup.” Eskel’s tone of voice was odd, and he grimaced a little. 

“You don’t look happy about it,” Matt pushed. “Quite the opposite. You have been displaying more signs of stress than usual for you. Also you keep fidgeting.”

Eskel closed his eyes for a moment, and let out a quiet sigh. Whatever he was feeling, he seemed to push it back a little more, because when he opened his eyes again his face was a study of blank attentiveness. That was sort of the opposite reaction that Matt wanted, but not an unexpected one. 

“It’s complicated,” Eskel said finally. It looked like that might be the end of it, but to Matt’s surprise, he kept going. “I’m very glad that Geralt is finally well enough to do this...treatment. It will be good for him, in more ways than one.” The mask of blankness cracked a little again, as Eskel’s mouth briefly twisted in distaste. “I didn’t enjoy seeing him so injured.”

“But?” Matt leaned in a little, keeping a careful eye on Eskel. Perhaps something in his body language would say what his words wouldn’t.

“But the rest of the situation is complicated. And...in flux, I suppose is the best way to describe it.” Eskel shook his head and gave an unhappy sigh. “And I have my own issues.”

An unusual phrasing. 

Was Eskel jealous? That almost seemed to fit. Maybe. Matt frowned as he tried to work it through. 

No, he was sure there was something else going on too. Something about the treatment itself as well as who was involved. 

“Is it safe?” he asked finally. That was a key concern for him, after all, though he was more worried about Trevor’s safety and involvement than Geralt’s. 

“As safe as anything involving Trevor’s father can be.”

Matt found he especially hated how everyone he talked to about Belmont Sr. gave answers like this. No one was ever willing to say that nothing bad would happen. Trevor, Geralt, Iga, and Eskel all spoke about him as if there were simply degrees of safety. He also hated how they treated Belmont Sr.’s wishes as absolutely unavoidable.

It made Matt’s skin crawl. 

“Tell it to me straight, is Belmont Sr. a threat for Trevor? Would he hurt him?”

Eskel looked at Matt, tilting his head in thought. The expression strongly reminded him of how a hawk looked at something particularly interesting. There was a predatory calculation to that gaze, but not an unfriendly one. 

“Gabriel loves Trevor more than all the world. He would burn everyone and everything down in Trevor’s defense. But Gabriel is not a tame creature, and his love is fierce. Nor do we live simple lives. There is always an element of danger around all of us, more so for Gabriel. He doesn’t adhere to the rules of civilization as most humans do.” Eskel’s eyes focused strangely on Matt, his pupils sharpening down to just slivers against the gold background. He looked utterly inhuman for a moment, and more than a little unsettling. “I personally think that Gabriel would avoid harming Trevor as much as possible, but I understand that to spend time with Gabriel is to play with fire.” 

Matt wanted to snarl in frustration, but he held back. Or at least he tried. Something of his irritation and worry must have leaked through, because Eskel shook his head at him.

“Matt. Trevor will be fine. And do you know how I know? Not just because Gabriel loves him and would do his best not to harm him. But because Trevor is fierce in his own way. He can take care of himself, and has for a very long time.”

That did mollify Matt a little bit. It also made him wonder more about Trevor’s background and personal history. Trevor was a child soldier, raised by the church, and Belmont Sr. said he still kept in fighting shape. How much would that help against Belmont Sr. throwing a temper tantrum?

Eskel just waited patiently as Matt thought it through.

“He defers to his father a lot,” Matt said finally.

“Yes,” Eskel agreed. “But notice in what matters he does so. It’s never on business or things that Trevor might have a personal objection with---”

“It’s always in personal matters,” Matt cut in, remembering how Belmont Sr. seemed to mostly ignore Trevor’s professional life but all but take ownership of his body.

Eskel tilted his head back and forth, as if saying _sort of_. “What I mean is, the things Trevor feels passionately about, Gabriel doesn’t prod much at. He wouldn’t, because those things are important to Trevor. He might grumble from time to time, but that’s about it. As for the rest…” Eskel shrugged. “Allowances are made, and everyone stays happy.”

A cold chill ran down Matt’s spine as he soaked in those words. So Trevor would fight for his morals, for his business, for things he was passionate about, but he didn’t care what Belmont Sr. did to him _personally_. The sheer lack of care about his own bodily autonomy was horrifying. A tiny little voice in the back of Matt’s head screamed how that sometimes happened with survivors of childhood abuse. 

Matt licked his lips as he tried to come up with something to say. 

“I’m not worried about Trevor’s health and safety up there,” Eskel said firmly, obviously noting Matt’s distress. He opened his mouth, almost looking like he was about to say something else, but then shut it tight and shook his head. “They’ll be fine.” Then he winced. “And I can basically guarantee that I’ll eventually get a full, in detail description of what happened, whether I like it or not. So I speak with some knowledge on this.”

“Wait, they’ve done this treatment before?” Matt asked. 

The look Eskel gave him could only be described as long-suffering. 

“Yes.”

Matt tapped his fingers on his desk. “One of these days, I want to hear the whole story.”

“You don’t.”

“I _do_.”

Eskel gave him another long measuring look. “Hm. Well. I suppose you are interested in Ciri.”

“What?” Matt was a little baffled at the switch in topic. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“More than you suspect.” Eskel narrowed his eyes. “We’ll see how that little courtship goes.”

“I’m not sure which outcome you’re looking for,” Matt said, a little annoyed. For God’s sake, he hadn’t even been on a single date with the woman yet.

“Ciri’s life is as strange as ours. If you can accept her uniqueness, it’s possible you might be open to more.” 

“More.” Matt said flatly.

Eskel sighed.

“Geralt gets into the kind of shit you wouldn't believe even when staring straight at it.” Eskel huffed. “And he does it constantly.”

Now that sounded like nothing but the bare truth. Matt grimaced. He’d known Geralt for two weeks and already he knew the man was a shit starter. And, _hell_, but his life was weird. 

At least he’d gotten Eskel to admit that Trevor was probably, mostly alright. Though he made Matt worry on several other levels. Matt sighed. 

Then he got up, took off his suit jacket, and wandered over to the table Eskel was at. 

“Wanna teach me whatever game that deck is for?” he asked.

The smile he got back was two parts thrilled and one part loan shark. “It’s called Gwent. Buckle in, I’ve got extra decks.”

They’d ended up playing cards most of the damn night. Matt might have been a spec ops guy and thus aware of how far he could push himself on little to no sleep, but as a soldier he also knew when to get some sleep when he could. He’d passed out some time in the wee hours of the morning and got a couple hours rest before the next day started.

All day, Eskel sat in his office, casually scaring the shit out of anyone who wandered in. Not that he was trying. He just looked like a damn hitman sitting there in the corner flipping a knife. 

_When did I turn into an extra from the Godfather?_ Matt moaned internally. 

Now it was close to the end of the second day, and still no word from upstairs. John was starting to get anxious. So anxious that he was prodding Matt with texts every half hour. 

Matt would be annoyed, but he himself was about ready to pull his hair out with annoyance too. He hated the idea of Trevor being alone with his father for so long, and hated it even more that Eskel wasn’t up there with them at least. Eskel seemed like the stabilizing influence in that group, and Matt had watched him step in between Trevor and Belmont Sr. more than once. 

He could tell Eskel was getting more edgy, too. The cards had long since disappeared and now the knives had come out. _In force_. Laid out on the table where Eskel could pick one up at random and flip it around. Pretty soon, he was going to start fucking juggling with them, Matt was certain. 

“We don’t need to be worried, do we?” Matt finally asked.

“No,” Eskel said, his voice more of a low growl than usual. 

“You look worried.” Matt prodded.

“Not for any reason that makes sense. Or matters.” 

Matt hated it when Eskel tried to talk around something he wasn’t allowed to speak of. The answers never made any sense, and it was always glaringly obvious he was talking around something. It was a good thing the man was skilled with weapons, because he _sucked_ at talking. 

“Care to run that by me one more time?” Matt asked dryly.

Eskel growled at him, though in his defense he did seem to be unaware of making that sound. As far as Matt could tell, it wasn’t even directed at him. Which was interesting.

Matt raised an eyebrow at him. Maybe if he looked disbelieving for long enough it would sink in.

Eventually, Eskel looked over to Matt and shook his head.

“They’re fine. I’d know if something went wrong.”

“The same way you knew Trevor’s father was angry the other night?” Matt prodded. That was weird as hell how both Iga and Eskel had glared up at the ceiling like that. He still hadn’t gotten a straight answer about how that happened, or what they were reacting to. He knew Eskel had enhanced senses. Was there a sound? Something Matt couldn’t hear? If that was the case, then Iga would need to be enhanced too.

Then he remembered how she strangled that designer, she didn't look like it took that much effort on her part. Maybe she _was_ enhanced?

Shit, when did Matt’s life get so weird? He thought this kind of crap was all fairy tales and religious allegory. 

“Basically, yeah.” Eskel gave a half shrug and focused back on his knives. 

“Still not gonna tell me what that’s all about, huh.”

“Nope.” Eskel must have caught his salty look, because he half shrugged again. “Trust me. It’s better you don’t know.”

Matt resisted the urge to pucker his lips like he’d bitten on something sour. It was difficult. Eskel was just doing his job, he reminded himself. 

Whatever exactly that job was. 

So far, Matt was still a little fuzzy on that aspect. Eskel said he was a monster hunter, a title that still made Matt want to roll his eyes a little. But he seemed to also do...additional services for the Belmonts. Bodyguard. Assassin maybe. Emotional support? Paramour for Belmont Senior? Or, potential paramour rather. It was hard to tell. What bothered Matt the most was the fact he couldn’t pinpoint exactly where Eskel’s loyalties were placed. If chips were down, whose side would he choose, Trevor’s or Belmont Senior’s?

Before Matt could try and wheedle some more information out of him, his earpiece clicked on.

“Boss, Geralt just got off the elevator and is on his way to you.”

“Wait, what?” Matt said, a little surprised. This treatment they were doing was supposed to help Geralt heal, but Matt still didn’t expect him to be up and about.

Before he could say anything else, his door swung open. 

Sure enough, there was Geralt, grinning like mad. To Matt’s astonishment, the man looked damn good for being a ripped apart pincushion just under two weeks ago. To Matt’s surprise, Geralt was actually taller than Eskel, though he looked a little on the thin side. Probably from the recovery process. He would probably stand only an inch or two shy of Trevor’s height, and Trevor was a tall man. 

There wasn’t a single bandage or splint on him, and he was dressed in what looked like a pair of Eskel’s jeans and one of Trevor’s shirts. The sapphire blue button up shirt was left undone at the neck, showing off the start of the top of the fully healed surgical incision. 

As well as a rather large hickey on his neck. 

Wow. Belmont Sr. didn’t waste any time, did he.

“Matt! Eskel!” Geralt said, still grinning. “Why so sad looking?”

Eskel just flipped up his middle finger at him and started putting away his knives, squirreling them away in hidden holsters under his shirt. 

“Geralt,” Matt said with a nod, standing up. He gave Geralt a long look up and down. “You look…”

“Fetching?” Geralt cut in with a grin.

“Not mostly dead,” Eskel said. “The lack of bleeding arrow wounds is very attractive.”

Oh god, these two were clearly related. Sheer amount of shit they shoveled on each other was incredible. Maybe Eskel had been holding back while Geralt was recovering. Or maybe he was just in a bad mood. Both seemed equally likely.

Rather than take offense, Geralt just snorted in amusement. “Depends on who you ask.” He wiggled his eyebrows. 

Eskel rolled his eyes. “_Arrow_ wounds. Not bite marks.”

Again, Geralt held back a snicker. 

Matt was a little afraid to ask what they were talking about. He was almost certain he didn’t want to know the answer.

“So. You’re all better?” Matt asked, walking over to give Geralt a more thorough look. Damn, but the man moved like he was in perfect health. 

“Provided John doesn’t murder me when nobody is looking.” Geralt said seriously. “He’s acting like a wild dog with a bone, and that bone is Trevor’s attention. He downright glared me out of the room.” Geralt made a show of shuddering in remembered terror, which made Eskel chortle in quiet laughter.

“He growled!” Geralt defended, “Honestly growled at me.”

“John,” Matt said flatly. “Growled?”

“He did it very politely,” Geralt said wryly. “Does not change the fact he was this close,” he raised his hand and made a half inch space between his index finger and thumb, “to going for my throat if I took Trevor’s attention away from the tablet for one second.”

Matt rolled his eyes a little. That was probably an exaggeration. 

Probably. 

John took his work _very_ seriously.

“He’s been a little antsy,” Matt agreed. 

That was a massive understatement, and Matt knew it. Trevor had disappeared for this treatment right in the middle of an interview. John had had a tightly booked schedule of things for Trevor to do in the past two days, all of which had to be immediately and indefinitely rescheduled. The poor man had been going nuts trying to get everything reworked. 

Eskel narrowed his eyes and stood up, moving over to Geralt to get a closer look at him. He eyed the hickey on Geralt’s neck, but looked him up and down as well.

“You do look better than I expected, actually,” Eskel said. There was something in his tone of voice. Suspicion, maybe. 

“I took a Swallow,” Geralt said ruefully. “Luckily, Trevor had one of yours.”

That made Eskel snort and shake his head. 

Now it was Matt’s turn to narrow his eyes. By now he knew that ‘Swallow’ was one of their potions, some type of drug cocktail that increased their natural regeneration. The witchers had explained that normal humans couldn’t tolerate the potency. Matt had to wonder if Bioquimek wasn’t already working on something a little lower grade, useable for the masses; the sheer amount of money they could make on such a thing was mind boggling. “So the treatment went better than expected? Or worse, and you needed to help it out a little?”

Geralt grinned, wide and satisfied. “The treatment went great. Wonderful. Perfect. The best---”

“_Shut. Up._” Eskel glared at him. “No one here wants details on that.”

“Awww, are you sure?” Geralt teased. 

“I will stab you. And that potion you took will heal it before anyone else would ever know.” 

Geralt frowned at Eskel.

“Did you get more grumpy than I remember recently, or have I just forgotten how grumpy you are?”

“Both,” Eskel grumbled quietly. “But regardless. Trevor is upstairs fending off John’s paperwork. Where’s his father?”

“Roaming,” Geralt said in a low, dark tone as if intoning ancient prophecy.

_Shit_. 

Matt resisted the sudden urge to go check with his staff. 

“Huh,” Eskel looked thoughtful. “Is he…hungry?”

Geralt blinked at Eskel, looking surprised for a second.

“I…he wouldn’t?” He did not sound sure at all.

They were talking around something again. _Again_. 

_What is it with the Belmonts and food?_

The door pushed open then, hard enough the knob bounced off from the wall.

“Wouldn’t what?” Gabriel fucking Belmont was standing in the door, dressed in his dark suit and looking way too pleased about everything.

“Look for something to eat around Trevor’s tower,” Geralt said smoothly. He took a little bit of a step forward, not quite moving into Belmont Sr.’s space, but definitely closing the distance. 

“Hmm,” Belmont Sr.’s eyes tracked down Geralt’s body with obscene possessiveness before turning to Eskel and basically repeating the process there, making the other witcher blush slightly. “I could go for a…snack, if it was on offer?”

Matt was pretty sure they’d stopped talking about food, and moved on to something he was very certain he didn’t want to know about. So he did the best thing possible. He completely ignored the subtext.

“The tower has a fully staffed kitchen and cafe, and Trevor has a personal chef on call. They’d be able to make whatever you like,” Matt said blandly.

Belmont Sr. turned to Matt, amusement in his eyes. “My tastes are very specific.”

His words made Geralt huff out a breath that turned out to be mostly muffled chortle. Eskel rubbed his face.

“But thank you for your concern,” Belmont Sr. added, clearly pleased with the reaction he got from the witchers.

“I’m happy to help,” Matt said dryly. 

Belmont Sr. smiled the almost classic half smile that managed to both irritate as well as terrify Matt. It always felt like he was laughing at Matt, amused by something glaringly obvious.

“I wanted to say thank you,” Geralt said, and the smile on his face turned to something a little nicer. “I really appreciate all you’ve done to help out. I know I’m not the most...comfortable person to be around when injured.”

Belmont Sr. snorted, the expression of amusement fleeing his face and irritation replacing it. 

Eskel snorted, too, and rolled his eyes. “At least you managed to stay sober this time.”

“That was one time…” Geralt grumbled at him.

“Part of my job,” Matt said, stepping in before that conversation could devolve into something he didn’t want to hear. “I’m glad to see that you’re feeling better.” 

“Much.” Geralt grinned again, and rolled his shoulders dragging Matt’s attention to his size again. Damn, he definitely did not look as imposing when he was confined to the bed. Matt could see the way his skin was stretched tightly around his neck, tendons sticking out sharply in a way that suggested a lot of missing weight. Matt expected that after a few weeks of training and eating well he would get even bigger.

“Does this mean you all are headed out?” he asked, curious.

Geralt looked to Belmont Sr. and Eskel for a moment, and then shrugged minutely. “Probably soon. After Trevor gets his business squared away. It would be nice if he’d come with us, even if only for a few days.”

“We have spent enough time here,” Belmont Sr. did not seem very impressed with Castlevania City, or maybe just the fact this was the place where he remembered Geralt in the worst state ever.

“Before we go, you should take a minute to thank John and your doctors, too,” Eskel said, looking at Geralt. “The shit those poor people went through. I’m surprised we didn’t give John ulcers.”

That was likely an accurate statement, although maybe more so for the doctors than for John. 

“John’s used to high stress,” Matt said with a shrug. “It’s part of the job. But he would still likely appreciate a thanks.”

“They got Iga to sweeten the deal for them,” Belmont Sr. said offhandedly. “What more do they need?”

_Iga_. 

Matt withheld any expression on that matter. That little spy had wormed her way all through the company and his own guards. He was having a hell of a time untangling just how many people were now completely compromised by whatever shady as fuck organization Belmont Sr. ran. 

He waited a beat to make sure that he wouldn’t betray any of his feelings on the whole idea, and then said, “I’m sure that Dr. Miller at least would be interested in an exit exam. He’s been a little anxious since you’ve been out of touch. And besides,” Matt smirked. “Trevor has him on retainer now. An in house surgeon. Just in case. Should something happen again, getting a healthy baseline for you would be a wise idea.”

“And saying thank you is polite,” Eskel added, raising an eyebrow to Belmont Senior. “Witchers are shitty patients, and we all know it.”

That was far too loaded a statement for Matt to weigh in on, so he let it slide.

“I need to thank John for the tablet anyways,” Geralt said. “Though I’m not sure how I’ll charge it when we get home.”

Wherever ‘home’ was for them, it was bum fuck nowhere as far as Matt was aware. Neither he nor John could find anything on anywhere they mentioned. It was enough to make Matt wonder if they’d been talking in code. It would be easy enough to assign alternate names to various locations. Although that still didn’t account for some of the specifics they talked about. 

Regardless, wherever they were headed apparently didn’t have basic electricity. 

Eskel sighed, looking sad as hell.

“We won’t.”

“Well…” Matt paused and pursed his lips. “Not necessarily. There are portable batteries. Chargers, they’re called. You could each get one, plug it in here, build up a charge, and then take it with you. Then when your tablet runs out of power, you plug it into the charger. A good sized one would probably tide you over for at least a few recharges.” He looked back and forth between the two witchers, eyebrows raised. “If Castlevania City isn’t too much of a trip, you can just fill up the chargers when you’re here visiting Trevor.”

As one, Geralt and Eskel looked to Belmont Sr. with hopeful expressions on their face.

Belmont Sr. looked from one to the other, looking as if he swallowed something slightly rotten before his face cleared up with alarming speed.

“I guess I could be amenable to a deal,” Belmont Sr. murmured.

For whatever reason, that made Eskel blanch and Geralt grin.

“All those sex shows,” Geralt said happily, almost to himself.

“But at what cost,” Eskel added, still looking like he was about ready to shiver himself to death.

“Yes,” Belmont Sr. said, looking even more pleased. “At what cost.”

“I don’t care,” Geralt shrugged.

“That’s because you are an idiot,” Eskel said testily.

“You could probably ask Trevor, too,” Matt added. He didn’t like the idea of leaving either man beholden more to Belmont Sr. than they already were, especially given Eskel’s obvious trepidation at the mention of _deals_. “He seems to travel back and forth to see you two enough.” How, exactly, Trevor did that, Matt was still dying to know. “I’m sure he’d find a way to bring you fresh batteries.”

Again Geralt and Eskel looked to Belmont Sr. with identically hopeful expressions on their faces. It was extremely worrisome. Just how tightly were the two of them bound to Belmont Senior? Matt had assumed they had at least some autonomy, but with this conversation, he really had to wonder just how much, if any, they really had.

“Payment,” Belmont Sr. purred, looking like a well fed cat.

Eskel sighed softly. “Paper books for me.”

Geralt just smirked. “We might be able to work something out.”

All in all, Matt wasn’t sure who to feel more bad for. Eskel, who obviously was willing to give up his new tech in order to avoid a deal, or Geralt, who looked absolutely all in.

Belmont Sr. looked to Eskel, his eyebrows arched as if waiting for an offer.

“What?” Eskel looked at him, frowning a little in confusion. “It’s a nice thing, but I don’t _need_ it.”

Belmont Sr. shook his head sadly.

“There are so many options available, Eskel, so many. Don’t be so hasty with your rejections.”

For a moment, Eskel actually looked intrigued. Then he glanced at his hands for some reason and winced a little. “Noted,” he said quietly. 

Belmont Sr. beamed at him, a short flash of smile that only made Matt feel that much more uneasy.

“It’s not so bad,” Geralt said to him, sounding consoling for some reason. 

Eskel snorted at him, and glanced towards the door. But then he turned his attention back to the group. 

This was another one of those things everyone only talked around, rather than addressing it directly, and Matt was certain it was because he was in the room. He almost wished he had a moment alone with Eskel to give the man a few words of support, but he knew they likely wouldn’t help. 

“I think we're scaring Matt,” Geralt said looking with his strange eyes at him. 

“As long as you are in this building, you’re in my charge,” Matt said, keeping his face and voice neutral. He didn’t want to admit what he was or wasn’t feeling about any of this. Giving up any weakness like that to a dangerous person like Belmont Sr. was a bad plan. He could stick to what his job description was, though, and use that as a cover. “It’s part of my job to make sure you’re well cared for and safe. Part of that is giving you options on how to proceed. What you do after that is up to you.”

The looks he got in return ranged from knowing to amused. That didn’t bother Matt at all. It was far more important to him to make sure that Eskel and Geralt knew they had options. Whether or not Belmont Sr. was there to know Matt was offering options was immaterial. 

Maybe a little unsettling. Still worth it.

“Trevor hired well,” Geralt said with a smile. Then he took a breath and looked to Eskel and Belmont Senior. “I have a couple other people to see, it seems, before I go. Want to join me?”

Eskel shrugged. “Why not.”

“I’m pleased with the minions I’ve met so far,” Belmont Sr. said after a short pause. “I shall accompany you.”

_Minions_. 

Matt blinked, and did his best not to facepalm. 

Geralt offered his hand to Matt, which he took without hesitation.

“It was good to meet you, Matt Snow,” Geralt said. “Maybe next time it will be under better circumstances.”

“The pleasure was mine,” Matt replied, giving their hands a good shake. Oddly, he found that this was mostly true. The last couple weeks had been utter hell, but Eskel and Geralt were both interesting people to know. He’d learned a lot. Some of which he never wanted to know, but Matt was never one to shun new experiences. 

This little event had shed so much light on so many things. His boss, the Belmont family, their personal lives. The city of Castlevania in general, too, and even their ancient nemesis, Dracula. He’d learned a hell of a lot about fighting, what with Eskel’s training sessions, and was both pleased and terrified to discover other things. Like the fact that monsters were real and there were more inhuman things wandering around than he might guess. 

That despite everything they were taught about history, Dracula was still alive and well somewhere.

He had a hell of a lot more to worry about now, especially where Trevor’s personal safety was concerned. 

But all in all? The last few weeks were a win. No one died. Some security leaks were found. Geralt had made what looked like a full recovery. Most interesting of all, Trevor had looked happy for a little while. That alone was probably worth all the effort.

Geralt nodded to him and headed out of the room. 

Rather than offering his hand to shake, Eskel slapped Matt on the shoulder, his lips twisting into a half smile. 

“It was fun, Matt,” he said. “Next time, we can start running training courses for your guards. Get them into shape.”

That made Matt want to both wince and grin, and what came out was a combination of both. At this point, Eskel almost seemed like a fellow soldier, someone he might have served with years ago. 

“I look forward to it. Good luck, Eskel. Try not to get killed.”

Eskel gave his shoulder one more squeeze and then he followed Geralt out the door.

“If you are still such a good minion for my Son, I might even bring you a gift when I return,” Belmont Sr. said with a thoughtful look on his face.

Matt let a perfectly bland smile come over his face. “I’m afraid it would be unethical for me to accept gifts for my job performance, though I do greatly appreciate the thought. I always try to do my best at work, and I’m thrilled to be a help to Trevor.”

Belmont Sr. nodded and Matt was suddenly absolutely sure he hadn't listened to a single thing Matt said.

“I will find something suitable.” 

Yup, definitely not listening at all.

He was going to have to talk to HR about this. Or maybe Trevor. The last thing he needed was allegations of bribery from likely-illegal organizations. It was one of those things that would probably never come up, but just the possibility worried him.

“I hope you have a safe trip home,” Matt said, his neutral mask in place. 

The fact they all had access to a hidden entrance into the private floor was driving him insane. Matt kept having dreams where hired assassins ghosted into the private floor and murdered Trevor in his sleep. Sometimes it was a host of paparazzi that stormed the room, photographing Trevor in a disarrayed state or corporate spies rifling through Trevor’s private documents without anybody knowing. Every time the yet unfound passage was used, Matt could feel another ulcer growing.

Belmont Sr. left, sweeping out of the room with the same energy as he entered it. Matt couldn’t help but stare at the way the man treated Matt’s office and really the whole building as if it belonged to him. He hadn’t shown a shred of hesitance, a single moment of not knowing where to go or needing to ask for directions. Matt couldn’t remember ever meeting anyone with this particular kind of confidence, or the sheer attitude.

Despite the fact that it was the end of the day, Matt wandered back over to collapse in his chair. 

This was it. The insanity was over, or almost anyways. He grabbed his phone, and shot a quick text to John.

_G, E, and Creepy Guy are gonna stop by to talk to you before they head out. I’m up for the bar tonight if you’re interested in a drink._

He didn’t get anything back, but Matt expected that. No doubt John was still bombarding Trevor with the numerous business issues that needed to be resolved immediately. 

That was another strange thing to come out of this whole adventure. Never in a million years would he have assumed that he and John would become friends, but somehow it had happened. It reminded him a little of Basic Training, actually. The way shared difficulties could bring together people of all types. 

It was kind of nice. John was pretty tense, and they didn’t have tons in common, but Matt found himself looking forward to meeting up with him for drinks. If only to have someone to bitch about his day with, someone who understood and had the security clearance to listen.

The moment he could confirm that Belmont Sr., Eskel, and Geralt were really gone, Matt planned on scheduling himself a full day to do nothing but sleep. After the last two weeks, he deserved it.

\--

On the one hand, Geralt was happy to be able to travel Alucard’s tower and finally see what his lover worked on so hard. On the other, he really missed home. He worried about Vesemir, about Ciri and the fallout of the hunt for him. When he'd been busy with passing out every five minutes he didn't have the energy to worry about the possible political backlash of what happened.

“You think Alucard told John about leaving soon?” Geralt asked, watching the slow movement of Dracula’s ass as he walked.

Eskel snorted. “He probably hasn’t had a chance to yet. I’m betting he’s buried under a pile of things to sign right now.”

“I’m guessing we will hear the howl once he learns of the imminent departure.” Geralt snickered.

“Seems likely.” Eskel nodded, walking in step with Geralt. It was nice, so very nice to be able to move at a decent pace. To get up and walk around and not need a supporting arm to do so. 

Geralt glanced at Eskel out of the corner of his eye. He was a little worried about the whole bond thing going on between Eskel and Alucard. Before Dracula had arrived to heal Geralt, it seemed they’d made progress in resolving whatever tension was there. Now Geralt wasn’t so sure. Eskel still looked tense and vaguely unhappy. Not so much that Geralt thought calling him on it would do any good, though. But it was enough that he could see it.

Maybe he was just pissy because he didn’t get the bed for the night. 

“That guy is tense. I hope he takes a break after this,” Eskel said. “Did you know there’s a pool upstairs?” he asked, out of the blue.

“What?” Geralt frowned. “Like, for swimming?”

“Yeah. Hundreds of feet up in a building, and there’s a mini-lake. Heated, too.”

“Huh.” For some reason, Geralt couldn’t really picture Alucard ever using it. Maybe for serious swimming practice, but not for pleasure. 

“It’s hot and has whirling, bubbling water in it. Feels amazing,” Eskel continued, sounding way too happy about it.

Geralt hummed a little, thinking it over. “I do enjoy time spent in the baths…”

Eskel rolled his eyes, and Geralt could practically feel the amusement radiating off of Dracula. 

The meeting with Dr. Miller had gone quickly. The poor man was as exasperated as ever, especially with the lies Geralt had to come up with on the spot. Judging by how much Eskel was wincing and how amused Dracula was, his excuses weren’t very good.

In the end, Miller just gave him a sour look, wrote down everything he said, and then sent him off with a list of exercises to help keep his scar tissue malleable and functional. Though even that came with some grumbling about how he probably didn’t need it. 

Geralt took the list though, because some of the exercises were new, and while he would probably be healed up even from the scars by Dracula, there were other witchers who might benefit from those. 

Miller had eyed the scars on Eskel’s face and neck for a moment too, clearly considering if he should say something. In the end he let it pass. Probably because Eskel looked about as approachable as a grassfire. 

After that, the three of them wandered the upper floors of the tower for a little while longer, both so that Geralt could see what was there and to give John and Alucard a little more time to finish up their business. 

But now Geralt was antsy to get back, and he could tell he wasn’t the only one. Dracula’s dislike of Castlevania City was subdued, but obvious. Eskel…well, Geralt wasn’t sure what was going on with Eskel. 

Alucard was still busy poring over a tablet when they got back to the bedroom, but at least he and John had moved over to a table to work. The moment they walked in, Alucard’s eyes were on them. Interestingly, Eskel’s walk became stilted for a moment. It probably wasn’t enough for John to notice, but Geralt certainly did. Probably Dracula, too, even though he was already moving over towards his favorite lounging chair. 

“I should be done soon,” Alucard said. “Then we can prepare to leave.”

“What?!” John yelped. Then his face turned bright red and he cleared his throat. “I mean. So quickly?”

The look Alucard gave him was both unyielding and sympathetic. “Yes. I’m headed back to Kaer Morhen with them, at least for a few days.”

A look of only slightly concealed dismay crossed over John’s face, but it quickly disappeared. He began typing furiously at his laptop. “Give me a moment and I’ll get you everything that must be looked at before you go.”

Geralt couldn’t help the little flush of pleasure that curled up in his chest at this proof of Alucard wanting to spend time with Geralt. He had an important thing here and Geralt had no doubts that leaving meant at least some problems for his business, but he never hesitated. He just put the time he spent with Geralt and Dracula above his duties here and it meant a lot to Geralt.

It was tempting to take a seat somewhere, but Geralt found that he was tired of sitting still. It was just as tempting to go sit on Dracula’s lap, but he figured neither John nor Eskel would particularly enjoy that distraction. 

It might also end up delaying their leaving for several more hours, so perhaps it was better just to wander. There was also the little issue of Geralt not being sure how far Dracula would take the cuddles. He doubted Alucard would appreciate the two of them going at it in front of John.

Eskel, however, went straight over to one of the chests along the wall. From there he pulled out Geralt’s swords, followed by his own weapons, gear, and armor.

“If we’re headed back, we should get dressed for it,” Eskel said, taking the whole pile over to the bed and spreading it out. “Your armor is screwed. You’ll need replacements. These are basically the only things that survived. Even the harness looks like it needs a deep clean.”

Geralt winced, but nodded. He was well aware that he was suddenly woefully underequipped. His sword harness he settled on over his shirt, sighing with relief as it fit smoothly into place. He rolled his shoulders, letting the scabbards slide between his shoulder blades, and felt something deep within unwind at the familiar sensation.

Next he put on the silver pendant that could summon a portal to Dracula’s castle. He ran his fingers over the image of the wolf forged into it and smiled a little. Gods, but he was looking forward to going home. 

Dracula still had his witcher medallion, though, the symbol of the Wolf school. He looked up to Dracula and raised an eyebrow.

“Before we leave,” Dracula said evenly, knowing already what he was thinking of.

Geralt nodded. That was expected. 

Eskel grabbed all of his gear and wandered into the bathroom to get changed. It made Geralt frown a little. That kind of shyness was unusual for him. Maybe he was just being conscientious of John being in the room.

From the glance Dracula gave the bathroom door, he must have noticed the same thing.

Sometime later, Eskel wandered back in, fully kitted out. He even had one of his small packs on. 

“Did you come straight from a hunt to here?” Geralt asked, pointing at the bag.

“Kind of.” Eskel shrugged. “I was in the middle of something when Ciri got me, and then after that when I decided to hitch a ride here, I just grabbed my regular travel gear. No idea what was waiting for me, you know?”

That made Geralt laugh. He did indeed know. Ciri’s portals were good, but no one’s portals were perfect. 

“Portals,” Geralt said with a grimace. 

“You hate them,” Eskel said just a heartbeat before Geralt could utter his usual complaint. He snapped his mouth shut and gave Eskel a hairy eyeball. “We know.”

“Sensible,” Dracula said with faint distaste. 

“He’s just a grumpy old man,” Eskel said and Geralt snorted at the irony of Eskel calling anyone grumpy. “You just like him for his… assets.”

“I am very gifted,” Geralt said with a shit eating grin, causing Eskel to roll his eyes.

“One can call it that, yes.” Dracula admitted, inclining his head royally but not managing to hide the amusement in his eyes.

As they were shit talking, John stood up and started gathering up his things. 

“That’s the most important stuff,” he said, shoving his laptop into a black, fitted bag. “There are five or six meetings that need to happen sometime soon, but they can be put off for another week. I’m compiling a list of other relevant reports for the company’s current activities, and…” John paused to wince a little. “While the hospital director and the rest of the staff are very appreciative of the additional contributions this past week, my guess is they’ll likely lobby for further involvement from you on the charity front in the coming year. It seems likely to me that they’ll ask you to represent their interests in the Kane Silent Auction this year.”

Alucard grimaced a little and smoothed down the wrinkles in his suit jacket. “We’ll see.”

“It’s still a few months out. You won’t need to think about it for a while.” John zipped up his bag and looked to Alucard attentively. “Is there anything else I can do for you while you’re away?”

“No, I can’t think of anything. Thank you for all your help, John. Please be sure to take a bit of a break this week, you and Matt both. I know the hours have been unexpectedly intense.”

John just looked at him with a dry, barely there smirk. “Part of the job. Safe travels to you, sir, and please don’t hesitate to contact me if you need anything.”

Before he could walk out, Geralt took a few steps towards him.

“John,” he said. “Thank you. I really appreciate all of your help the last couple of weeks.” 

There were about a hundred things that John had done to make Geralt’s recovery more pleasant. Both he and Matt had done their best to keep him amused and quiet, and Geralt had to admit that without their help things likely would have been a hell of a lot more difficult. And boring. 

“I was only doing my job.”

“I have been on the mercy of people only doing their jobs before,” Geralt said dryly. “You did much more, which is why I am thanking you.”

A little bit of a blush brightened John’s cheeks and he adjusted his glasses uncomfortably. “You’re welcome. And…” his eyes flickered nervously towards both Alucard and Dracula. “Is there anything else either you or Eskel need before you go?”

It was tempting to ask about those charger things that Matt had mentioned, something to keep his tablet going. But Dracula had already hinted at a deal, and Geralt knew better than to try and spoil his fun. So he just shook his head and said, “I’m good.”

Eskel shook his head too. “Nope. But thanks. And good luck with the meetings.” Something like amusement glinted in his eyes and he added, “Let me know if you need someone stabbed.”

John’s face went a little pale and Alucard made a bit of a choking sound. 

“I’ll keep that offer in mind during the next board meeting,” John said smoothly. Then he nodded at all of them and took himself out.

The moment the door shut behind him, Alucard gave Eskel a flat look.

“Eskel, really?”

“Don’t tell me the meetings wouldn’t go faster with this,” Eskel waved his hand at his scarred face, “looming behind you.”

The most hilarious thing was how torn Alucard looked after Eskel’s proclamation. Geralt held back a snicker.

“...I shouldn’t,” Alucard said, but he sounded unsure, as if he was trying to convince himself.

Geralt couldn’t take it anymore and burst out laughing at his lover's obvious dilemma.

“If you want,” Dracula chimed in, “I can make the walls in some of the rooms bleed. That should keep your people on their toes.”

Alucard shot Dracula an unimpressed look, which only made Geralt laugh harder. Even Eskel looked amused.

“Oh gods, the looks on their faces,” Geralt said, wiping his eyes. 

“Save it for when they’re being a pain in the ass,” Eskel suggested.

Now Alucard transferred the glare to Eskel. “Time to go. Before you all get any more _helpful_ ideas.”

He turned off the tablet that was still glowing gently on the table and put it away in one of the bedside tables. Then disappeared behind the door leading to the bathroom. Geralt sighed, disappointed. He hoped to see Alucard doing the armor summoning trick but his lover never seemed as comfortable with dressing himself in only his power. Not like Dracula anyway.

It didn’t take him long before he came back, his blue coat as stunning as any time Geralt saw it. He sighed, happy with the way it made Alucard look bigger and more dangerous. His hair was loose too, all the messy strands finally free throm their tight braid.

“How are we doing it?” Geralt asked. “Should I open the portal?” he mentioned vaguely towards the pendant on his chest.

Alucard shook his head.

“There’s a permanent portal on this floor. It’s why I made it my private floor.”

Geralt nodded, and they all followed Alucard out. Eskel must have already stashed his tablet in his pack, but Geralt was careful to keep ahold of his. 

Right before he left the room, he gave one last look inside. Hopefully he’d get a chance to come back. Under better circumstances too. While the Path called to Geralt, it was also really nice to see how Alucard lived. To be a part of his life.

Geralt wished for a moment that there was some way they could spend more time together, all three of them.

A little smile touched his lips. Maybe there was a way they could work it out. After all, with the three of them together, four counting Eskel, what couldn’t they accomplish?

It was a short walk to Alucard’s portal room, and it wasn’t quite what he was expecting. For whatever reason, he had imagined something archaic looking. More stone arches or maybe permanent keyed magic items on shelves like other mages. But this room looked similar in style to the rest of the tower; sleek and elegant. 

The walls were made of a dark polished green stone, probably some type of marble, and heavy glyphs were carved into them. Both the floor and the doors were black wood, each also bearing more glyphs. Each symbol was placed in a circling pattern, likely where the portal was centered. Soft light came from sconces near the doors, but the rest of the room lay empty. 

Geralt could feel the power in this room. It tingled along his senses like a faint breeze. Witchers could sense strong power, and Geralt’s bond with Dracula made his senses a little keener on that front, but he would bet anything that this place felt a hell of a lot more powerful for a mage.

“This portal is keyed to me,” Alucard said, walking up to the center of the room. “So tightly it’s impossible for anyone else to use it without me being present here.” The moment he stepped into the centre the glyphs lit up with eerie green light. “It’s why Ciri couldn’t use this place as a jumping point.”

Alucard opened his hand, spreading his fingers and the lines of glyphs adorning the walls lit up too. they started moving, like water, the light falling down in waterfalls of power and streaming into a vortex forming on the floor.

“It’s a very stable portal,” Alucard reassured. “The trip shouldn’t take a toll at all.”

Geralt held back a grimace, and nodded. “Even if it did, it wouldn’t matter. I’m traveling with you two. Already that makes it better than any other type of portal.”

“Very sweet,” Eskel grumbled. For whatever reason, his face was particularly flushed, and he wouldn’t look up from the floor. “Can we go?”

“So eager,” Dracula purred quietly, a slow smirk spreading on his face. 

That was about the time that Geralt remembered that Eskel had said he watched a video of Alucard and Dracula fucking in here. He still maintained that it was very unfair of Eskel not to share. That would have been a sweet sight to watch.

“But first...” Dracula turned to Geralt. He started walking and the black suit sluiced off of him, leaving the red armored coat behind and tendrils of shadows still wafting off of his body. He grabbed Geralt’s sword harness and reeled him in with a hard tug. Geralt didn’t even think of fighting the demand, instead letting himself be manhandled and kissed. Hard and hungry, Dracula licked into him as if he hadn’t seen him in a month, his other hand wrapping tightly around Geralt’s neck. When he pulled away, Geralt realized there was an additional weight around his neck.

When he looked down, he saw that his wolf pendant was now on his chest, beside the wolf medallion. A deep spark of happiness filled him up. His witcher pendant meant a lot to him--they did for every witcher--and it meant even more to know that Dracula had kept it safe for him. 

“So I’m ready to be released into the wild again, huh?” Geralt said with a soft smile. He put one hand on the pendant, feeling the sharp spikes of the wolf’s hair, ears, and fangs poke at his palm and fingers. It was a familiar sensation, one he’d felt a billion times. 

“Hmmmm. You might need a little more attention before you wander off again.” Dracula’s body pressed close to him, warm as a fireplace, and his eyes burned with a soft red glow. One clawed finger trailed down his jaw, lifting his chin up for another kiss.

“Seriously though, I’m pretty sure Vesemir is going to beat you with a stick for the next three weeks just to get you back into shape,” Eskel grumbled. 

Geralt ignored him. Kissing Dracula seemed like a much better plan.

“You do remember I am holding open a passage between two worlds, right?” Alucard drawled.

Without another word, Eskel walked through the portal.

A little sprinkling of heat dusted across Geralt’s face and he winced a little. “Sorry,” he said, and reluctantly pulled back from Dracula. He nodded towards the portal. “Shall we?”

Dracula laughed.

“I’ll meet you there.”

Geralt smiled. “Deal.”

Dracula’s form burst into shadows suddenly, the dark mist swirling and wisting into itself for a moment before rushing towards the floor and dispersing there in one violent move, the dark mist disappearing completely.

The move was so showy, so dramatic and perfectly _Dracula_, that Geralt had to laugh. He loved how Dracula turned everything into something beautiful, loved the display of power.

When he turned towards the portal, Alucard had a look of fond exasperation on his face. 

“I still think your portal is prettier,” Geralt reassured him, getting a wry smile for his trouble.

“He’s such a show off,” Alucard sighed with a shake of his head, but there was a tiny upturn to his lips that suggested he liked Dracula’s tendency.

“That he is,” Geralt agreed easily. He stepped close to Alucard, putting a hand on his waist and drawing him in close. “Come home with me?” he asked in a soft whisper.

“I thought you would never ask,” Alucard’s voice was low and soft as the green light surged up and enveloped Geralt.

There was a flash of light and a familiar sense of falling, and then they were gone.

\--


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes from Quarra: Woooooooooo here we are, 29 down, 1 to go! I hope you all are doing well!

Eskel paced back and forth in his room. They’d been back at Kaer Morhen for a few days now, and while Eskel was thrilled to death to be back in his own world, he found himself struggling with restlessness. 

After stepping through Alucard’s portal, he’d waited in the castle portal room until Dracula, Alucard, and Geralt had arrived. Then Dracula shifted reality around them, bringing them to the courtyard of Kaer Morhen. Or maybe bringing the courtyard to them. Eskel wasn’t sure how that worked and for sanity’s sake, he didn’t spend too much time trying to figure it out. 

He was more than a little disturbed it worked with Kaer Morhen at all. But the keep was a part of Dracula’s domain now. Annexed in, sure, but it was settled firmly inside those impossible black walls, with all the dark splendor of the castle stretching out beyond their valley.

That was an adjustment. It was weird as hell to look up and see new mountains, to see a whole damn city there just beyond their valley. Eskel couldn’t stop looking around every time he was outside. It was bizarre and a little unsettling. The sensation had to be worse for Vesemir.

Surprisingly, Vesemir seemed to be doing alright. With Henselt’s army settling in outside the wall, Eskel had half expected that Vesemir would be more on edge. But the old witcher was handling the new shift in circumstances with shockingly little grumbling. As far as Eskel could tell, Vesemir was quite present, too. No falling into his own terrible memories. 

Maybe it was the last year that had helped. The keep felt more alive than it had in decades with Dracula, Alucard, and all the various demons roaming around. 

Maybe it was the idea of Kaer Morhen being a safe refuge for witchers of any school. Letho had been a surprising addition to the group in the kitchen. It was oddly nice to see another witcher in their kitchen, even if he wasn’t a Wolf. Vesemir surely felt the same way. Letho himself was taciturn and mysterious; he tended to keep to himself. Eskel couldn’t tell if the distrust was just part of his character or a leftover from an obviously hard life. He didn’t have his medallion, apparently taken from him during interrogation, and wasn’t keen on sharing which school he belonged to. It didn’t particularly matter to the rest of them. Vesemir obviously treated him as he treated everyone else who showed up at his door; Eskel saw no reason not to follow suit.

Or maybe Vesemir’s added calm was due to Orlaith. Eskel hadn’t had much opportunity to interact with her yet, but every time Vesemir looked at her there was a soft light in his eyes. A hint of something Eskel had never seen in Vesemir before.

Eskel found that he liked her, though he couldn’t tell if that feeling was shared. She was very elegant. Focused in a way that Eskel appreciated. He sort of doubted they would ever be friends, but he thought he wouldn’t mind her company around the keep.

Geralt had taken the changes to Kaer Morhen’s surroundings with surprise and pleasure. As soon as they had all arrived and had a chance to greet the folks gathering in the kitchen, Geralt had dragged Dracula and Alucard back to their room, muttering something about giving Dracula a proper thanks. 

After that, things seemed to settle into an almost normal feel as they all waited for the situation outside the walls to settle. Eskel trained and helped out Vesemir around the keep. Geralt got his ass kicked back into shape every moment he wasn’t eating or pulling his lovers into a dark corner to make out. Dracula and Alucard spent time with Geralt, or were simply occupied elsewhere.

To be honest, it was driving Eskel more than a little mad.

Every time he saw Alucard, he ached to close the distance between them, to reach out and touch. Things were still awkward between them. Alucard had said he didn’t want anything to change, and Eskel was trying his damnedest to respect that.

The problem was, _not changing_ meant that Eskel minded his business until Alucard got fucked out and utterly stoned on Dracula’s blood, and then he hunted Eskel down and looked sad at him until they cuddled. And while Eskel was sure that Alucard was getting more than plenty of sex, he was just as sure that Alucard was feeling shy of getting high on Dracula’s blood, given what happened last time. Maybe he was feeding and he was just being careful not to seek out Eskel for fear of doing him more damage. Or maybe he just didn’t feel the need to be close like Eskel did. Alucard said that he’d trained himself not to feel such discomforts. Prior to this little clusterfuck with Geralt, Eskel got cuddles from the vampires, but it was by no means a daily thing. Not even close. 

Eskel was suddenly shocked by the idea that he wanted more, and was then equally struck by the knowledge that he had no right to ask for it.

At least Dracula still came to find him for cuddles, despite the…particular way he did it. Eskel was constantly living on the edge of snapping at him because, seriously, barging in on him in the baths was a bit too much. Or that time Dracula dragged him away from gathering herbs because he was feeling like a cuddle. Well, Eskel didn’t mind the interruption to his chores as much as he minded the travel-by-bat-swarm way of acquiring his presence. And he absolutely did not care how cute the bats were. They were an _unacceptable_ mode of transport.

His temper wasn’t helped by the fact that things with Dracula still were in flux. Eskel had to talk to him about the possibility of sex. He had to. But, Gods, he was sort of dreading that conversation for a whole host of reasons, not the least of which was he just knew that Dracula would take anything he said in the worst possible way. He was nervous about the idea of it, too. Admitting he might want more felt like a huge step and it made him worry about a thousand different little things. Each of those little things was another problem he would have to talk to Dracula about, or sit and stew on it and try to work out himself.

So in his free time, Eskel went to his room and paced. The movement helped a little. It gave his body something to do while his mind ran around in circles. 

As he walked back and forth, a tiny movement in a far corner of the room caught his attention. There, squeezing through a crack in a cabinet, was a small, brown bat. 

“No,” Eskel said. “No bats!” He pointed an accusing finger at the tiny creature that seemed to freeze under his attention. “I am already in the damn keep, I don’t need to be dragged anywhere,” he bitched, half convinced that he was going to be swarmed any second anyways. 

But the little bat did nothing but squeak softly and settle in against the wood. 

Eskel frowned, and walked over to get a closer look. It did seem a little less toothy than Dracula’s usual creatures. He stretched out his senses, searching the little creature for any sign of Dracula’s power.

There was none. It was just a damn bat.

Eskel sighed and rubbed his eyes tiredly. He really was going crazy.

“I’m not sure how to feel about this,” Dracula drawled from the direction of Eskel’s door. “Are you stepping out on me with some other bats now?”

The sudden interruption made Eskel nearly jump out of his skin. Gods, but Dracula was a sneaky bastard.

“Fuck!” Eskel took a breath and rubbed his eyes again, trying to calm down from being startled. “You do that on purpose.”

Dracula was leaning against the open doorway, his arms crossed over his chest and open amusement on his face.

“It’s not one of yours, is it?” Eskel asked with a sigh.

“It’s just a bat,” Dracula said with the corners of his lips pulling up.

Of course it was. 

Eskel shook his head and paced back to the other side of the room, though now a little more self-consciously. He eyed Dracula as he walked.

“Did you want to come in?” he asked, mildly confused. Usually Dracula was fairly direct with his wants. It was sort of surprising to see him waiting at the door.

“I did enjoy the Eskel and bat show, but coming in sounds good too.”

Eskel scowled at him and waved a hand, inviting him in. The itching under his skin made him want to pace some more, but that probably would be rude. Or at least it would be unwise to tip off the more dangerous predator in the room that something was unsettling him. No telling how Dracula would react. So instead he forced himself to take a seat at his little table, schooling his body into stillness.

Dracula ambled into the room, going to the cabinet and extending a finger to pet the bat huddled in the corner. The creature twitched but ultimately stayed still, probably frozen in terror as Dracula petted it with one finger.

The tiny thing was pretty cute.

Eskel would rather spit nails than admit it. Saying so would only invite more harassment by bats.

Dracula finished playing with the bat and ambled back towards Eskel.

The closer he got, the more sour Eskel’s temper became. His shoulders were tight as a drum and that particular prickle of touch starvation settled over him like a blanket. He knew that Dracula would freely offer touch, if Eskel wanted it. It was still frustrating as hell to feel that need. It was worse knowing that even a small touch from Alucard could make him feel warm and whole again, but Alucard wasn’t a damn option. 

Dracula let his hand trail over the edge of Eskel’s desk, the claws making tiny scratching noises.

All the dozen or so things that Eskel had to talk to Dracula about swirled in his head. He knew he was going to fuck this up. He just knew it. And the prospect of it did not make him feel any better about the whole deal.

_This is stupid_, he thought to himself. _Just spit it the fuck out_.

“I’ve been talking with Alucard and Geralt about having sex with you.” 

Dracula froze, eyes locked on him.

There was a pause as what Eskel said really sunk in. He blinked hard and winced. “No. That’s not. I mean. I didn’t talk about them having sex with you, although they do talk to me a lot about that. Far more than I really want.” He shook his head. “That’s besides the point. I mean, I talked with them about me having sex with you.”

That didn’t really sound any better.

“Oh really?” Dracula purred, an unholy light in his eyes. 

Now a little hint of panic was starting to crawl up Eskel’s spine.

Dracula’s coat was starting to flake off in places, tiny motes of darkness floating up from it. Correction, not just his coat, his clothes in general.

“Wait. What are you---” Eskel sputtered. “No. No stripping!”

“Oh!” Dracula blinked at him, sounding surprised but the surprise was quickly turning into pleasure. “You want me to stay clothed?” The clothes stopped flaking off and solidified again. “We can do it that way.” Dracula nodded, advancing slowly on Eskel.

Eskel squirmed backwards into his chair, shifting away in alarm. He could feel his eyes straining with how wide they were, and his fingers dug into the wooden arms of his chair. 

Even with his alarm, he had been hoping for some cuddle time, preferably without shirts on. The skin contact sounded amazing, and he was still chilled. Always chilled whenever he wasn’t touching Alucard.

He was still fairly alarmed at where this was headed. And confused.

“Wait! I mean, the armor can go, but pants stay on.” For some reason, Eskel got the feeling that whatever he was trying to say was not coming out right. “I mean, for now. Today. Maybe later---” He winced again. This was not working.

“You sure you have the order right?” Dracula was frowning hard at him. “I could understand leaving the coat, but…pants?” He spread his hands in confusion. “Doesn’t that defeat the purpose?”

“Of talking?” Eskel was baffled. “I know witchers aren’t thought to be very smart, but damn, I can actually speak with my pants still on.”

Dracula stared hard at him, then kind of slumped in place.

“Oh.”

Shit, now Eskel kind of felt bad. _Why_, exactly, he wasn’t sure. But something had gone awry and now Dracula was sad.

“Talk about false advertisement,” Dracula grumbled, leaning his hip against the table.

“Huh?” Light dawned and Eskel realized what was going on. He buried his face in his hands and groaned. “Oh Gods, I could not be worse at this if I _tried_.”

“You did open with wanting to have sex,” Dracula spread his hands in a ‘what can you do but oblige’ gesture.

“No! I opened with saying I talked over the possibility with Alucard and Geralt,” Eskel grumbled. He crossed his arms and stared at the floor, face suddenly warm with a light blush. “I don’t know if I want to have sex with you. But...I might be interested in testing a little more touching out. To see if I do like it. And then maybe trying sex.” He huffed. “I wasn’t going to try anything until I made sure everyone was alright with it.”

“I’m alright with it,” Dracula said immediately.

“Are you? Are you really? Because you’ve been pushing hard the last week, and I’m not really sure you’ll be willing to let me go at my own pace.” Eskel pinned him with a glare, and waved at Dracula’s clothes.

Dracula grinned wryly.

“I meant, I’m alright with having sex.”

“Uh huh.” Eskel looked at him flatly. “Somehow I caught that.”

Itching nerves filled him. Of _course_ this was a damn clusterfuck. Because this was his life. He rubbed the scars on his face and sighed unhappily.

Dracula stepped in close and put his hand against the back of Eskel’s neck. The tips of his claws pressed on his skin gently. A hard shiver raced down Eskel’s back. The feeling of sharp claws on his skin wasn’t his favorite, but gods, any touch felt pretty good right then. Dracula’s energy was so close to Alucard’s, too. It wasn’t quite as good, but it still felt kind of wonderful.

Dracula hummed, gently dragging his claws down the back of his neck before flattening his palm against Eskel’s neck and squeezing gently.

Fuck, that felt nice. Eskel’s eyelids got a little heavy and he leaned into the hand on him.

Dracula let his hand drag up, fingers digging under the short ponytail and tugging gently but firmly.

“Feels good,” Eskel mumbled quietly.

“That’s the goal,” Dracula murmured. He was standing very close beside Eskel, his body radiated heat as he loomed over him.

Eskel snorted in amusement. “I’m sure it is.” He didn’t move away though, and his eyes were still heavy with pleasure. “Only cuddling today. But...after we talk, I might be alright with more later.”

“Oh really,” Dracula purred again. “Let’s talk, then.” Dracula pulled at Eskel’s ponytail again, taking the tie off, and then scratched his nails through the loose hair.

Eskel hummed and took a deep breath in, filling his nose up with the scent of Dracula’s power. It never failed to calm him down a little.

“Big stuff first,” Eskel said, trying to scramble his brain back into sanity. “Sex is a _maybe_. I want to make sure I like and want to do that with you before you’re balls deep in my ass.”

“You have such a talent for words.” Dracula was laughing at him now; Eskel could hear it even beneath the careful control of his voice.

Eskel had to snicker a little too. “Witchers weren’t made for elegance,” he said with a little shrug. 

It was what it was. Eskel had long accepted that there was no damn point in making his words pretty when his face looked like he’d tripped into a bundle of barbed wire and couldn’t find his way out.

“Your talents lay in other areas, yes,” Dracula agreed, still skritching gently through Eskel’s hair.

Gods, that felt very nice. Eskel tilted his head into it. He couldn’t resist, though he had the niggling feeling that he probably looked stupid as hell.

“So. You going to be alright with that?” Eskel asked.

Those soft, little touches went a hell of a long way towards easing the unpleasant prickling under Eskel’s skin. Some vague feeling of tension was slowly being eased by that little contact as well, and Eskel found some of his irritation flowing away.

“Hmmm,” Dracula was still humming. His fingers slid lower to Eskel’s neck and then under the collar of his shirt. He felt the tug, a tension against the cloth. It took him a moment to realize Dracula was trying to _cut the damn shirt off of him while he wasn’t looking._

He put his hand on Dracula’s wrist.

“What are you doing?” he asked, squeezing the wrist warningly. 

“Undressing you,” Dracula answered with that little humming noise of pleasure underneath his words.

Eskel growled wordlessly.

Dracula pulled the claws in, as much of an expression on chagrin as the vampire ever expressed and continued petting Eskel’s neck with his fingers.

“You are exceedingly grumpy today.”

“Because you are exceedingly irritating today.” Eskel let go of Dracula’s wrist. He liked the petting too much to just let it stop completely. “I asked you a question.”

Dracula hummed again, stroking through Eskel’s hair slowly.

“Yes,” he said after a while. “You were a nice distraction during the time of Geralt’s recovery. I might have pushed a smidge too hard.”

A little bit more of Eskel’s tension flowed away. That was very good to hear. While Eskel had enjoyed some of what happened, he didn’t like feeling like he was hemmed into it. Life would be a hell of a lot more difficult for him if Dracula decided to keep pushing like that.

“It was a hard week,” Eskel admitted quietly. He let himself relax a little further into Dracula’s hand. 

“Focusing on getting you in bed seemed like a better option than some of the others that ran through my head.”

“Mm? Other what? Options?” Eskel tilted his head to look up at Dracula’s face.

“Hmm.” Dracula was now petting Eskel as if he was a cat. “Like finding each and every Church of the Brotherhood of Light, sealing it from the outside, and slowly letting my Chaos power eat through it and everybody within.” Dracula sounded wistful almost, but there was something darker under his even tone.

“Ah.” Eskel nodded a little. 

From what little he knew of how the Church in Castlevania had interacted with Dracula and Alucard, he found that he couldn’t really get too worked up over the idea of them being roasted in their temples. It was less interesting to him that Dracula had thought about it, and far more interesting that he restrained himself from following through. 

“Yeah,” Eskel said again. “Distraction is good. Though there were parts of this week that pushed too hard. But,” he shrugged, “mitigating circumstances, I guess.” He looked through his lashes up to Dracula again and smiled a little. “I’m glad I could help.”

“You did,” Dracula admitted freely. His fingers were clawed again, the tips dragging very gently over Eskel’s neck. “My attentions are not gentle ones,” he murmured. “You are strong enough, I think.”

That made Eskel laugh a little and shake his head. “Ah, the irony.” His lips tugged into a wider smile. “You make me feel safe,” he said, quiet and low. “Like it’s alright to be a little weak, for a little while.”

“I like it when you are like that with me. It’s very pleasing.”

A shiver curled up Eskel’s spine and he shifted a little closer to Dracula’s body, pressing his arm up against Dracula’s leg. Eskel could feel the heat radiating out from there, even through leather pants and Eskel’s shirt. 

Then he nodded, mentally moving on to the next thing. “If things go well with you, and provided you don’t mind, Alucard and I talked about maybe becoming lovers as well. But likely not for quite a while.” 

Eskel grimaced. Things with Alucard were still quite strained, and he was very much looking forward to the end of the waiting period. Once the bond had settled, maybe they would finally be able to do something about their situation. The waiting was both frustrating and unpleasant.

“Would you be alright with that? If Alucard and I…” Awkwardness settled in for a moment. “It wouldn’t be for a while,” he repeated. “And it’s not, I don’t know, critical. Especially considering I’m not even sure I’m interested.”

“If you are mine,” Dracula murmured. “I can accept it then.”

Something about that wording sent off little warning flags in Eskel’s head. “If I’m yours. How do you mean?”

Last time Eskel had checked, Dracula had already tattooed a big, fat _MINE_ on Eskel’s chest.

Dracula took his hand away from Eskel’s neck and walked to the neatly made bed tucked under the other wall. He sat there, his back resting against the wall and his right leg raised up, heel braced against the sideboard of the frame. He rested his arm on his raised knee and looked at Eskel from behind the messy hair. 

“I mean sex,” Dracula said plainly. “If you are my lover, I see no problems with sharing you with Alucard.”

Seeing him lounging so casually on the bed only made Eskel want to go over there and curl up into him. It was more than a little tempting, but Eskel stopped himself. They had things to talk about, and he was reasonably sure that the moment they started cuddling, Eskel’s brain would turn to mush.

“Alright,” Eskel said, nodding. “Seems fair.” He licked his lips, already feeling the cold descend back on him. Logic told him he should get up and get a cloak or something, but the past few days had taught him that adding layers didn’t help. “I have to ask, though. While we’re figuring this out, do you want me to stop sleeping with anyone else? I’m very well aware of how possessive you are, so I’d like to know up front what you’ll expect.”

“I would like to have every bit of you, have you be mine only because I am possessive and unwilling to share as you said.” Dracula paused. He spread his fingers; the large rings on them sparkled in the evening light. “But as much as I am not a kind man, I do try to be a fair one.” He sighed. “I can not and will not expect monogamy from you when I am not offering it in return.”

Eskel nodded again. “Alright. Sex isn’t…I mean, it’s great, but it’s just an act. With anyone else, anyways. You actually matter. If you’d have insisted I could give it up, but...” He rubbed his hands over his arms, trying to ward off the endless chill. “But it’s much harder now, with the bond with Alucard.”

“There is one caveat though,” Dracula said, his voice dropping and becoming more raspy than usual. 

Eskel looked at him, suddenly a little worried he’d messed up already. “Yeah?”

“I marked you as mine, I’m going to be your first, if you try getting with another man I will be very…_unhappy_.” 

The tone of voice sent creepy-crawlies down Eskel’s spine, but the implication made him both blush and grimace. 

“You and Alucard are the only men I’ve ever felt any kind of interest in. Ever. I have no desire to go out and find another one.” He shrugged a little. “You two are the only ones who make me wonder, who make me want to try.”

Dracula shrugged.

“I like to cover my bases.”

“That’s fine with me. I prefer to know ahead of time what might royally piss you off,” Eskel said dryly. 

Dracula gave him a wicked smirk.

“You knew what and who you got involved with.”

Eskel rolled his eyes and laughed. “Gods. Like I had half a choice.” He shook his head. “Yeah, I’m aware. Which is why I’m making sure I’m clear on the particulars now that I am choosing to go further.”

He eyed the way Dracula lounged on his bed. The way his heavy coat spread out across the blankets and the strong line of his shoulders leaning against the wall. A little part of Eskel was ridiculously pleased to have Dracula there, if only because the scent of his power would linger. That would certainly make it easier to get to sleep, he thought. 

Dracula patted the bed next to him.

“Come here.”

Almost without thinking, Eskel stood up and started walking. But he stopped himself after only a few steps. 

“I have more things to ask you,” he said. Already he was thinking about how wonderful it would be to curl up next to Dracula, to slip his hands under that heavy coat and let his head rest on those broad shoulders. “You’re gonna make my brain turn to mush before I get it all out.”

“Is that so bad?” Dracula murmured invitingly and patted the bed again.

Eskel inched a few steps closer. He was very chilled and he knew damn well all that skin on display, peeking through Dracula’s armored coat, would be furnace warm.

“It could be,” Eskel said, absently flexing his hands. “I’m awfully damn tired of always being the last to know about everything. Especially for shit involving me.”

Dracula blinked slowly at him, looking almost innocent.

“Do you really _want_ to know everything?”

“Some of it doesn’t matter.” Eskel waved a dismissive hand. “Some...I really should ask.” 

He found himself stepping closer anyways, until his legs were right up next to the bed. There would be enough space for him to sit side by side with Dracula, though it would be uncomfortable with his swords on.

Eskel clenched his jaw for a moment, reminding himself of what he needed to say. 

“Do you own my soul?” he asked quietly.

“You had to ask, didn’t you,” Dracula grumbled. “No. Not really anyway. Our contract is very contained.”

That fit with what Eskel had assumed, but it was good to hear a confirmation. “Alright,” he said, nodding. He swallowed hard. “The contract. Do I...do I have to do anything? Anything I’m not already doing, I guess.” 

That was the next logical question, after all. If there was some unsatisfied clause left, Eskel needed to know what it was.

Dracula grinned, wide and filthy.

Eskel waited him out. He knew Dracula would answer at some point, and Eskel was gifted with a boatload of patience. 

Eventually Dracula pouted at him for not falling for the ruse.

“You are fulfilling your contract.”

A swell of relief filled him. He closed his eyes and nodded. “Am I likely to break it?” he asked.

“Why aren’t you asking me about the terms?” Dracula tilted his head sideways, watching Eskel carefully. 

For a moment, every single one of Eskel’s bones felt like they were made of lead, and he felt every single one of his years piled up on him. He gave Dracula a dry, tired look, and said flatly, “Because I don’t want to know what part of this,” he waved his hand back and forth between them, “is an obligation to you.”

He should ask, he knew it. But Eskel would much rather live in the fantasy that Dracula was eager to be close to him because of _him_ and not because of a deal they struck.

“This,” Dracula made a motion with his hand indicating the almost-something between him and Eskel, “is purely fun, not work.”

A little spark of hope fluttered in Eskel’s chest and he felt himself perk up a little. “Fun,” he said, not quite believing it.

Dracula nodded. “Yes. Fun.”

“Alright.” Eskel licked his lips, feeling both a little puzzled and a lot relieved. “Then I just need you to warn me if I’m about to fuck up with whatever deal we have.” He raised a sly eyebrow to Dracula. “Since you’re reluctant to tell me the actual terms of our agreement, it’s only fair if you give me a little heads up if I’m about to mess up. I don’t actually _want_ to screw things up, after all.”

Dracula lowered his eyelids, watching Eskel from underneath his lashes.

“I think the only way for you to break the deal would be by design. It’s not something you can do by accident.”

A little more relief went through him. “Alright.” He huffed a little in amusement. “But don’t think I didn’t notice you not agreeing to warn me. Whatever it is, you really want me to muddle through on my own, huh.” Eskel shrugged. “So be it. If you were trying to screw me over, there are easier ways.”

“There’s a woeful lack of screwing going on here,” Dracula complained, but there was a barely hidden thread of amusement in his voice.

A smile tugged at Eskel’s lips. He sat on the edge of the bed and quickly unbuckled his tall boots, sliding them off. Then he climbed slowly onto the bed, unbuckling his sword harness as he moved. He settled it and his various other weapon and potion belts on the headboard of the bed, right where they usually went. Then, as carefully as he could, he settled beside Dracula. The vampire lifted his arm, obviously inviting Eskel to lean into him. 

Eskel eyed that arm somewhat distrustfully. He was well acquainted with Dracula’s tactics of getting the smallest of footholds in and then…expanding.

But the lure of warm touch and the feeling of safety that Dracula’s arms always brought was too much to resist. Eskel slid up next to him, tucking himself against his side, and leaned his head on Dracula’s shoulder.

Gods, but he was warm. The moment they touched, Eskel just wanted to get as close as possible. He pressed in as close as he could while still lying side by side, and took a deep breath in. The scent of Dracula’s power filled up his head and Eskel’s eyes fluttered nearly shut.

It wasn’t a surprise when he felt Dracula’s fingers inch under his shirt and then trail over his skin until they were resting against his belly. The sensation of tiny pinpricks of claws resting against his skin was almost familiar now. Dracula loved to put his claws on Eskel, if not on his neck then his belly, the more vulnerable spot the better.

“What’s with the claws?” Eskel asked after a moment, feeling little shivers start to awaken on his skin as Dracula dragged them here and there in gentle, meditative movements.

“I like the way your heart skitters when I do it,” Dracula murmured, sounding pleased.

Of course he did. 

“Using a lifetime of monster hunting against me,” Eskel grumbled half heartedly. 

“If I wanted to hurt you I would hardly use my claws to do it.” The shadows in the room surged up like a swelling sea wave, dark and solid they raised up waist high around the bed before collapsing into nothingness again.

Since that was undoubtedly true, Eskel just shrugged a little. “I know that. Hard to stop a century of trained reaction, though.”

He shifted in a little closer, making himself more comfortable against Dracula’s side. 

“Those reactions are so much fun.” Dracula sounded happy again. “Geralt doesn't seem to have any survival instinct.”

Eskel laughed. “Gods, but it’s true. Witchers are all a little mad, but Geralt is particularly fearless.” He shifted minutely in place, and frowned a little. “I don’t remember if he was like that before the Trials. They’re supposed to strip us of emotion, though it's fairly dubious how much they actually do and how much is just training. Geralt was put through more than the rest of us. Far more. Maybe this is another side effect.”

“Or he’s just like that. Alucard was fearless too.” Dracula was shifting, letting Eskel sink in deeper against his side.

Eskel hummed in agreement and tilted his head, rubbing his cheek up against Dracula’s chest. This was very nice. Though the coat was in the way. 

He prodded his brain back into functioning.

“You don’t own my soul. Do you want it? Probably a dumb question, I know.” He smiled a little ruefully.

“Yes,” Dracula responded immediately.

“Even if we don’t become lovers?”

Dracula rumbled out a laugh.

“You think on too small a scale,” he chided gently.

“Tell me.” Eskel knew very well that the vampire would have a vastly different viewpoint. The same thought occurred to him when talking to Alucard too. But he still wanted to understand.

“I have time to change your mind, and I do not mean the paltry length of mortal life.”

A small shiver raced up Eskel’s spine. Dracula just admitted he would pursue Eskel for centuries if needs be. Eskel knew that Dracula was aware of how long witchers could live, too. With Dracula breathing power into him and Alucard's bond, how long would he end up living? 

Eskel found himself smirking, the smirk quickly turned into a grin. “You better hope I actually do discover I like being with men then, because I am stubborn as hell.”

Dracula laughed at that, hard enough Eskel felt the vibration of it through the chest he was leaning on.

“That’s not a problem,” Dracula finally said. “What with Hell being mine and all.”

Eskel snickered. “You bring new meaning to all of my regular cursing. Though if you end up waiting centuries for me to give it up, I think you might be disappointed with my performance in the end. That’s a long time to wait to get with a virgin.” He paused, a little nonplussed at the idea of him and the concept of ‘virginity’ sharing the same sentence. “Kind of.”

“I don’t know,” Dracula purred. “I get to break you in just how I like.”

Now a full on shudder went through Eskel, and he tensed up just a tiny bit. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the idea of Dracula breaking him in, or just breaking him in general.

“Confident, aren’t you,” Eskel said, voice a little rougher than usual. It wasn’t even a question. Just a statement of fact.

“I have time; it makes a difference.” Then he shifted and looked down at Eskel. “And I am no longer bound by things like physical limits, so that gives me an extra edge.”

Gods, what had Eskel even gotten himself into? This was the man who could regularly fuck both Geralt and Alucard into passing out. A witcher and a centuries-old vampire. 

Then Eskel had to amend his thought. Dracula was far more than a man. It was surprisingly difficult to keep that in mind.

“You know I have limits, yes?” he had to ask.

“Makes you glad I have two lovers already, doesn’t it?” Dracula was still laughing under his breath, but his body was warm and his hands remained in safe areas so Eskel couldn’t find it in himself to be angry at it.

“You’re laughing, but it kind of does,” Eskel said, still struggling between laughing himself and getting vaguely worried over whatever Dracula had planned. “Geralt and Alucard enjoy a, uh, wider variety of activities than I do.”

“I am sure we will enjoy a wide variety of pleasurable activities too.” The clawed hand was in Eskel’s hair, dragging gently against his scalp, making Eskel feel really good all tucked into Dracula’s side.

“I don’t like to be rough in bed. I get enough of that on the Path. I’m not thrilled with pain either, though my tolerance is way above an average human’s.” He thought the last couple of weeks through. “Nothing you’ve done so far was too much.”

“It’s not the pain that interests me, it’s the pushing you to the edge of what you think you can take that’s interesting.”

Eskel arched up a tiny bit into the hand in his hair. Claws or not, the gentle skritching felt fantastic. He twisted his body, so his chest was against Dracula’s side. This gave him room to slip one hand across Dracula’s stomach and hold onto his waist, right under the warm fabric of his coat.

“Just letting you know what I won’t do,” Eskel mumbled softly, feeling more than a little pleased to have an armful of Dracula.

“Mostly, I just want to get _inside_ you,” Dracula murmured quietly. “But I’m willing to give you time.”

“Inside me,” Eskel said softly. “But not the other way around.” He rubbed his nose into Dracula’s coat. 

“No,” Dracula said calmly. “Not the other way around.” He didn’t sound apologetic or in any way ashamed of the…inequality of his demands. Eskel should have expected that a devil, or maybe the devil, wouldn’t feel shame about anything he did. “I’ll make it good, I promise.”

“Alright,” Eskel said quietly. “That’s fine. Not like I have experience either way.” He lightly ran his fingers up and down Dracula’s side, enjoying the feel of firm muscle under his hand. Every touch tingled against his skin like warm sparks. “You feel good. Almost like Alucard. I mean, you felt good before. But now...feels different. Your power, it's close to his.”

“Because I changed him, and he feeds exclusively on me. If he wasn’t so damn stubborn his power would probably feel different.”

Dracula shifted again, stretching his legs in front of him and inadvertently pressing his thigh harder against Eskel’s leg. This also meant they both slid down the bed a little big, ending up in a more reclining position than before.

“I offered again. For him to feed from me.” Eskel shook his head and sighed unhappily. “I thought for a while there that he might, but now with this bond thing.” He took a deep, calming breath, filling his nose with Dracula’s scent. “He’s even more reluctant. Not that I think he’s gonna have a choice.”

“Choice?”

He nodded. “Apparently, whenever we spend serious time touching, it draws up power for him.”

Dracula stilled next to him.

“...Really?”

Eskel could literally _feel_ the way Dracula’s mental gears were turning.

“He said something about how if he fed more, the effect wouldn’t be so bad. But he didn’t seem any more eager to feed. Especially on me. Won’t matter though, will it? He’s going to get energy from me anyways.” Eskel paused for a moment. “Although part of that could be his tower. Alucard said it was built to amplify everything. Which means we have to wait a couple months for its influence to clear my system before...anything.” 

The wait was stressful. Especially with the lack of Alucard’s touch crawling over his skin.

“What you are saying makes a staggering amount of sense. His conscious mind is dead set on starving himself, but his instincts work against him,” Dracula seemed utterly pleased with that development. “We should experiment,” he announced cheerfully and turned to look at Eskel.

Now that was worrying. 

“Experiment,” he said flatly. 

“Yes!” Dracula was getting even more cheerful. “I could breathe power into you and then we could wait and see how long it takes for it to percolate to Alucard!”

“No. No, I do not like this idea,” Eskel said, now very alarmed. Dracula’s breath would reduce him to writhing in both pleasure and pain, strung out until the energy inside of him was drained. He had absolutely no doubts that Dracula would leave him squirming with need until the power completely drained to Alucard. Or until Eskel was begging to be fucked. Either way it was a win for Dracula.

“Oh, Eskel,” Dracula purred, turning more towards him. “We could start with just a little bit.” he cajoled. “See how it goes.” He wiggled closer. “Just a tiny bit.”

“You want me to believe you can do anything in moderation,” Eskel said flatly.

“I am a very moderate man!” Dracula defended, but even he didn’t look as if he believed his words.

Eskel shook his head. “The power only transfers when Alucard and I are touching. The damn bond is so thoroughly blocked that all I can get from him is a damn aching _void_ where the sense of him should be.” He sighed a little and tightened his grip on Dracula’s waist, nearly growling with frustration. 

“He’s stubborn,” Dracula sighed, sounding irritated. “I think being stubborn and obstinate to anything that might be good for him in any way became second nature to him. It’s a battle getting him to accept anything that might feel good.”

“He’s afraid,” Eskel said quietly. “He nearly killed me and we all know it. I don’t think he’s used to having people to care about.”

“I think something’s breaking,” Dracula said. “He bonded you so deeply because some inner part of him, maybe the demonic power that keeps him alive, sensed a chance to ensure its survival through you.” Dracula sighed. “That’s the purpose of Familiars, you know, to ensure better chances of survival.”

“I didn’t know that. I knew about the power thing, as well as a few other details. But it’s not like witchers do an intensive study of magic.” Another rush of frustration worked through him and he pulled Dracula closer, twining their legs together. “Guess I’ll be the first. I have books to read on it.”

“Books,” Dracula said with distaste. “I remember reading the dusty tomes at the Barracks. Getting them to make some sense took ages.”

Eskel let out an irritated growl and shoved his face into Dracula’s coat. “Uggh, those are the exact damn books I have to read, I’m sure of it.”

“It makes so much sense that Alucard would like them,” Dracula groaned. 

“Why’s that?” Eskel asked, shifting to look up at Dracula’s face.

“Because he has a martyr complex a mile wide,” Dracula said with a sigh.

Eskel snorted. “Well, this will be a treat for me, I’m sure. There’s a whole list of them I need to get through before I’ll know enough to figure out what the hell I’m seeing. Then maybe we can work on getting the effects of the bond under control.”

He shifted in place a little. They hadn’t really chosen the best way to lay on his bed. Their legs hung off the end a little awkwardly and damn, but it wasn’t really a large space to begin with. Maybe if they weren’t lying sideways on it, that would help. But pulling away, even for a moment to shift around, sounded like a terrible idea. Now that he had his arms full of Dracula’s warm body, he was extremely loath to let go.

It felt so damn good that Eskel was very seriously considering taking off his shirt. And maybe asking Dracula to dismiss his coat, too.

He sighed. 

“If you can get us both together, and get him to agree to try with us…I’d be willing to take a little of your power to see if it will transfer.” The last he said almost reluctantly. “There needs to be a time limit on how long we wait for it to work, too. And you have to take it if I say I’m done.”

“You’re rather cute when you are high on power.”

“Ha. Yours or his? They have rather different effects.” Eskel gave him an unimpressed look. “Also. Cute?”

“Very,” Dracula insisted. “All cuddly and touchy. Very fun.”

Eskel had to laugh. “You’re the only one who I’ve ever met who called me cute.”

“And you wonder why I don’t have much respect for humanity in general.”

“Nah. I don’t wonder.” Eskel rubbed his face into Dracula’s coat again. So soft and warm. This was the first time all day that Eskel had felt warm. 

“Still, more for me,” Dracula announced cheerfully.

Eskel hummed at him, still busy enjoying the feel of their bodies together. “Take off your coat? Please? No more than that, but…” Something fluttered in his stomach, and he swallowed hard. “Coat off would be nice.”

The armored garment started to flake off under him, black motes of shadow disappearing as they floated gently up. In seconds Dracula’s upper body was bare, naked skin smooth and scarless.

Quick as he could, Eskel sat up and stripped off his shirt, tossing it away. Then he wrapped himself around Dracula’s body, tucking his head under Dracula’s chin.

“This is good,” he grumbled happily, stroking up and down Dracula’s side.

“You know, if you want things to change with Alucard, you have to learn to _push_ him.” Dracula said suddenly. 

“I won’t force him. I can’t. This thing has him all twisted up inside, already trying to do stuff with me that he wouldn’t want to normally. I can’t take advantage of that.” Eskel shook his head, jaw clenching down stubbornly. “He doesn’t feel the need like I do. I can cope.”

“If I waited for him to choose to do things on his own, if I waited for him to change his mind, he would have been dead a long time ago,” Dracula growled. “If there’s even an inkling of a conviction that somebody else could be better off at the cost of his own suffering, he’ll get utterly stuck in that mindset. The only way is to push him past that. Only that makes him see that the world won't end if he isn’t suffering.”

“Except now he doesn’t trust himself at all. He lost control once, and look what happened.” Eskel bared his teeth in frustration, but kept his face down. His annoyance wasn’t for Dracula, it was solely at the situation. Some small voice in the back of his head said that accidentally giving Dracula the idea that he was challenging him might end badly for Eskel. 

“All the more reason to make him see the light,” Dracula said.

“I’m patient. I can wait and see if he’ll settle. We’ve got a timeline to work with, and I can deal with any discomfort until then.”

Dracula raised himself and looked at Eskel with horror in his eyes. He stared for a long moment before he flopped down again with a groan.

“I can’t believe it. Alucard managed to bond himself to only other martyr of his caliber.” Dracula sounded so disgruntled Eskel couldn’t help but laugh.

The irony of it was pretty funny, too. 

“You know what they say. Like attracts like.” Eskel chuckled. “Although anyone calling a witcher a martyr is a bit hilarious. You sure you have the right one? Geralt’s the bleeding heart who gets wrapped up helping every old auntie who loses a pan.”

“Geralt also isn’t afraid to show what he wants, especially when it comes to physical matters.” Dracula chuckled. “The things he does to Alucard...” He purred deep in his chest, obviously pleased with the memories he relieved. 

Eskel groaned and rubbed his eyes. “I have heard all about it already. In detail.”

“Oh really? Who told?”

“Both. Both of them overshare. Though...Alucard is worse about it.” Eskel shrugged. “I could also just be used to Geralt talking, though. He knows I’ll throw knives at him if it gets too in detail.”

“It’s interesting that Alucard overshares with you. Doesn’t seem to be his style.” 

Now it was Eskel’s turn to look up at Dracula like he’d grown two heads. “Are you kidding me? I hear so many details. So many. About all three of you, though it’s worse when it’s about Geralt.” Eskel shuddered a little. “I do not need to know that much about his dick and how he uses it.”

“Geralt is rather talented in that regard, yes,” Dracula confirmed seriously. “But the fact Alucard talk about sex is interesting.” Dracula paused. “He never talks about it with me.”

“Sometimes it's easier to talk to someone who’s not involved.” Eskel shrugged, and settled his head back on Dracula’s chest.

Dracula shifted, getting his hand on Eskel’s head again.

“Because we share blood, I can read him when I feed from him,” Dracula murmured quietly. “I think he got used to that, to the fact I can pull his secrets out of him without him saying a word.”

Eskel let that roll around in his head for a minute. “Would you rather he say the words?”

Dracula stroked Eskel’s hair slowly, meditatively.

“It’s nice to be given things, sometimes,” he said quietly.

It was such a heartbreaking statement. Dracula was usually playful and cheerful about his pushy nature, but from the things that were said around him, Eskel knew it was not a trait natural to Dracula. At least not to the human he was before. It was a sad realization that Dracula learned to take, because things were rarely actually given to him.

Eskel wished he could make it right, wished he could help in some way. But the past was already set in stone, and Eskel knew damn well there was nothing he could do to change past hurts.

But he could offer a little comfort now.

He hugged Dracula tight, and tilted his head up to leave a soft kiss on Dracula’s neck, right under the jaw. Then he settled back into place, still clinging tightly to Dracula’s furnace warm body.

“Witchers,” Dracula sighed with an odd timbre to his voice. “You are such a surprise.”

Eskel huffed in amusement. “We get that reaction a lot. Although usually there’s more cursing and trembling in fear.”

“You are fearsome,” Dracula agreed, using the same exact cooing type of tone people used when talking to their beloved pets. “Can definitely get me trembling.”

That made him laugh a little more. “Uh huh,” he said a little dryly. “It’s the scars, isn’t it? Or all the knives. You’d be amazed how many people like all the knives.”

“Nah, I wouldn’t. Knights of the Brotherhood also got a lot of attention.” Dracula then turned to give Eskel a smirk. “I do like the scars and the knives. It’s like teasing a kitten, knowing it has those tiny little claws it’s hiding under all the fluff.”

“Oh, Gods.” Eskel groaned and buried his face in Dracula’s neck. “You’re going to try and tease out my claws aren’t you.”

“They are adorable,” Dracula said firmly. “The nicest I ever saw.” Then he put his free hand up and let his own claws extend. He looked at them, chuckling to himself.

“What’s so cute about _my_ claws?” Eskel griped. “They’re claws. Pointy on one end. Made for digging in.” He shrugged, a little mystified.

Dracula turned to look at him again, eyes wide.

“That’s the _point_,” he said with enough emphasis to crush an elephant.

Eskel just shook his head, baffled. 

“I’m gonna blame you if I turn into a swarm of bats next,” he said in a low grumble. Eskel was quiet for a while. “Do you see all of us wolf witchers as attractive? Is that a type of…fetish?”

Dracula huffed out a laugh.

“I have plenty of fetishes, but while I find witchers interesting in general, Vesemir is way too stiff for me and Lambert, while an interesting choice, is far too fragile.”

“That’s not a way I’ve ever heard Lambert described,” Eskel said, a little surprised. 

He liked how relaxed Dracula had gotten, how easily they lay together. The soft scent of Dracula’s power coiled in the air around him, and for a moment Eskel wondered if Dracula found his own scent just as nice. Witchers always smelled of herbs and potions, though which type depended on the witcher. Steel and sword oil were often present too, and most witchers on the Path smelled faintly of blood. 

“I don’t think he would be able to stand my fire, not without burning up with it. You and Geralt, you can withstand it without being consumed.”

“Your fire?” Eskel turned his head to nose towards Dracula’s chest, interested in cuddling a little closer. “You mean your power, when you breathe it into us? Or something else?”

“I…have a way of influencing people.” Dracula said after a moment. “It is…easy…to find the right words to push their buttons, to _push_ them. It didn’t used to be a part of me before. Now it’s natural. You and Geralt, you take the pressure and regain equilibrium. Others not so much.”

That was a little surprising. He could see what Dracula meant with Lambert, though. There was a lot of rage there, and that sometimes made Lambert easy to needle into stupid situations.

“I am stubborn as hell,” Eskel admitted. “But I feel like I give in to you a lot.”

“It’s not about stubbornness. It’s…I don’t know how to call it. Darkness or maybe emptiness, _something_, that gives me more leverage with some people than others.”

Eskel thought that one through. Corruptibility, that’s what Dracula was talking about. 

“Huh. So you like me because I’m not as corruptible as the others,” he said, puzzling out in words what had been nagging him for a while. Why Dracula would bother at all with him when he had Geralt and Alucard to please him. Though, to be fair, Dracula did seem like he had enough amorous attention to spread it around a little.

“And you are cute.”

Eskel snorted and rolled his eyes. _Cute_. He knew what he looked like, and cute was not remotely near the mark. Maybe Dracula liked how he looked, but Dracula had some rather skewed perceptions sometimes. 

“Don’t snort at me.” Dracula squeezed Eskel hard enough most of his breath left him in a rush. “I’m not the only one that looks at you and likes what they see.”

It took a moment for Eskel to get his breath back, but he shook his head stubbornly. “You might not have a fetish, but Alucard _does_. He likes scars a great deal, and it probably helps that I don’t have enough tact to keep my mouth shut. He’s probably used to people tiptoeing around him. And I,” he laughed a little at himself, “I’m not great at polishing what I say.”

He thought about his shoulder, the one still marked with a perfect outline of Alucard’s wolf form bite marked into it. 

“If that was true,” Dracula drawled slowly, “Alucard would have been in all kinds of relationships before me or Geralt.” Dracula pressed the tips of his claws into Eskels skin a little harder, making the touch prickly. “_Think_.”

But all Eskel could do was look at him, still confused. “I am, and I still don’t get it. Don’t get me wrong, I am grateful as hell that both of you seem to like sharing some of your time with me, but fuck if I can figure out why. Geralt, I get. He’s…” 

Eskel sighed and shut his mouth. No one knew Geralt’s many virtues better than Dracula. The rest of the Wolf witchers liked to give Geralt hell for behavior unbecoming of a witcher, but the truth was that Geralt had more heart than most regular humans they came across. He had his faults, everyone did, but he was exemplary in many ways. 

Whereas Eskel was much more like a traditional witcher. Cold, practical, and alone. He was a good hunter, a vicious fighter, and a master of many skills. But aside from his abilities to kill things, he wasn’t sure what he could offer in any kind of long term relationship. Most of the time, he wasn’t even sure he had enough emotion in him to care for one, though the last year had started to put a chink in that philosophy. 

“There are many things I’m good at,” Eskel said quietly. “But being good company for anyone beyond a few hours isn’t really on the list.”

“You have proven otherwise.” Dracula shrugged. “I think you aren’t lying, but you are wilfully blind instead.” Then he snorted out a short, bitter laugh. “You and Alucard, what a pair you make.”

Eskel looked up at Dracula. “Oh? How so?”

“You are both unwilling to change, you both tend toward being the martyr, the one that takes on suffering. Neither one of you ever thinks in terms of ‘I want’, only in terms of the absolute minimum necessary for survival. It’s why you get stuck at an impasse.”

What Dracula said made a great deal of sense, though Eskel struggled for a moment to line it up with his own mental image of himself. He could see those traits clear as day in Alucard, but in himself...he didn’t think he was so bad. 

“I guess I don’t expect much,” Eskel said quietly. “No sense in getting worked up over things I can’t have. And witchers are made to endure. We’re the ones who are supposed to take the hard jobs.” He took a breath and tried to release some of the tension that had built up in the last minute or two. “I never considered myself a martyr, but I do know I tend to take the brunt of unpleasantness. I can’t offer much to people, you know? But sometimes I can make other people’s lives easier.”

Dracula took a deep breath, and then let it out very, very slowly, closing his eyes at the end of the exhale. He worked his jaw back and forth for a second and then shook his head, just a little. Then he slid his gaze back down to Eskel, one eyebrow very slightly raised.

“It’s good then, that you are not left alone to make decisions regarding my Son's and your own well being.” Then his expression softened a little and he chuckled. “Be a good witcher and listen to me.”

Heat stole over Eskel’s cheeks and he pressed a little against Dracula. He shifted his face towards Dracula’s body, hiding a little as he thought about Dracula’s insistence that he was good company. 

“People aren’t often good to me,” he said quietly. “But people are often foolish, stupid, and cruel. If you and Alucard think I’m worth spending time with...then...I won’t argue.” Eskel shifted a little closer to rub his nose against Dracula’s neck. “And I’m more than pleased with the attention.”

Feeling a little daring, Eskel leaned in and gently bit Dracula’s neck. Likely not enough to bruise, but a mark wouldn’t last on Dracula anyways. They were talking about trying out more types of touch anyways, so perhaps Dracula wouldn’t mind if Eskel took this liberty. 

“You bit me,” Dracula said slowly, as if he couldn’t quite understand what happened.

Eskel hummed into the hot skin of Dracula’s neck and licked at the flesh still gently held in his teeth.

“Right,” Dracula said, pressing Eskel tighter to him with his arm. The world around them shifted, the darkness surging up and wiping everything from view. Eskel felt a shift, a queasy sensation of movement and change, enough that it made him gasp and let go of the skin he was holding on to.

“Like this,” Dracula murmured, taking hold of Eskel’s hips and _moving_ him, easy as if Eskel didn’t even weigh a thing. He was turned onto his back, arranged like a toy, his back hitting something soft and smooth.

Then there was a hand on his jaw, pushing his head gently but unyieldingly to the side. The sudden movements made his heart flutter in his chest and his whole body tense up. He shivered as he felt the touch of a warm nose at his neck and then the long, slow drag of air as Dracula inhaled. Shivers awoke in his body at the sensation of the vampire taking in his scent, the slow, pleased rumble in Dracula’s chest. Eskel raised his hands, unsure what to do, flailing until they rested on Dracula’s naked sides, freezing at the feel of powerful muscle shifting under smooth, hot skin.

Eskel let out a soft breath of air, not quite panting, but definitely feeling flushed in the face. It took him a moment to get his bearings, to realize that Dracula wasn’t pressing down on to him. He was holding his body just a bare inch or two away from Eskel’s; close enough that Eskel could still feel the heat radiating off of him, but not demanding anything. Perversely, that actually made Eskel feel a little more at ease with the sudden change.

He licked his lips, and shivered again at the sensation of Dracula’s breath ghosting over his neck. It took deliberate effort, but Eskel forced himself to relax into Dracula’s hold, to let his head lay moveable in Dracula’s grip.

“Like this?” he asked, quiet and a little rough. “You showing me how you like it?” The question was a touch teasing, but mostly serious.

“You know how I like it already,” Dracula said against his skin. “You know _exactly_ how I like it.”

The heat on Eskel’s face doubled and crept down his neck, and he struggled not to shift in place. Though if it was from just embarrassment or something else, he wasn’t quite sure. He licked his lips again, and swallowed, this throat suddenly incredibly dry. The sound of his own heartbeat was still a little too loud in his ears, and he took a deep breath in an attempt to calm it down.

He swallowed again, and relaxed a little farther into Dracula’s hands. 

“I know you like to bite, to mark me,” he said quietly. “I guess this means you like it when I bite you too? Or am I reading this wrong.”

Dracula chuckled, the sound a sensual vibration shivering against his skin.

“Witchers, more balls than brains.” Dracula chuckled again. “Do you want to get fucked right here and now?”

Now Eskel tensed up again, very aware of how Dracula still had him pinned at his hip and his jaw. This line of conversation was doing nothing to help calm Eskel’s heart, and a creeping nervousness filled him up. 

But Dracula still hadn’t moved. He was waiting for Eskel’s response. After a long moment, some of Eskel’s alarm fled. 

“No. Not here and now,” he said finally.

“Next time you bite me,” Dracula murmured, “I won’t care where we are or what we are doing.” He sucked in a breath again, the air running cold over Eskel’s skin. “Does that answer your question?”

Eskel shuddered, and his body felt a little too warm and a little too tight. For a moment he was tempted to try and nose up into Dracula’s neck, just to catch his scent and hide his face there. He didn’t want to encourage the wrong idea, though, and Dracula’s hand was still gentle on his jaw, holding him in place. 

He closed his eyes for a second and nodded. Surprisingly, Dracula allowed the movement, his hand loosening to rub a thumb up and down the line of Eskel’s jaw.

“That does beg the question, where are we?” Eskel’s voice was a little rougher than usual, but he at least managed to sound reasonably coherent. Then he shot a glare to Dracula. “Also, I have a reasonable amount of brains. I read.”

Dracula huffed out another chuckle and rolled off of Eskel in one sharp movement, ending up on his back beside him.

“And yet you have a marked lack of self preservation. It's either that or just suicidal tendencies, pick whichever you like better I suppose.”

And, well, Eskel couldn’t really argue with that. He shrugged, and sat up a little, finally getting a chance to look around the room.

Eskel blinked his eyes, twice in rapid succession and stared.

He was no longer in his room at Kaer Morhen. He wasn’t even in Geralt’s room. He was in a huge bedroom and was staring up at four bed posts supporting blood red drapes flowing down to frame an enormous bed covered in black silk sheets. A little further down the room he could see a huge fireplace in the shape of a snarling wolf's head, the fire stoked high inside it and putting out mad heat. To his right there were a pair of huge glass doors with what looked like a balcony beyond and to his left was a great tapestry covering the whole left side of the room, depicting some kind of castle siege scene.

“Um.” Eskel didn’t know what to look at. The tapestry, the ornate door, the statues of almost naked women in the corners of the room, their hands raised in a dance or maybe supplication, their generous curves depicted in loving detail, or the silver and gold gem-encrusted cups and vases scattered over various furniture.

“Very pretty?” Eskel looked around, a little nervous again.

“Much more comfortable than your tiny cot,” Dracula announced, sounding very pleased with himself. 

“...Is this your room?” Eskel asked quietly. Generally if they were in the castle and cuddling, they went to Eskel’s room, the same room he’d been put in after the whole affair with Stiengard. While that was a posh-looking place, it was nothing compared to the opulence of this bedroom.

“My bedroom,” Dracula admitted. “The safest place for you to be in the Castle proper.”

The fact that Dracula described it as a safe place for Eskel set him at ease far more than he expected it to. If Dracula said this was safe, then it was. It was as simple as that.

“It’s mine in ways the rest of the Castle will never be,” Dracula looked distant then, maybe remembering something. “...And it has the biggest bed.”

“It is impressive,” Eskel had to admit. He ran a hand over the soft sheets, admiring the sheer quality of them.

“I’m glad you like it,” Dracula purred and turned to look at Eskel. He stretched out on the bed, on his side, his head braced on his fist.

Something fluttered again in Eskel’s stomach and he licked his lips. 

“Just moved us here to be more comfortable, huh?” he asked a little suspiciously.

Dracula smirked at him.

“So much more space than your tiny cot.”

Eskel gave him a look. “It’s comfortable enough for one person, and it’s not like I expect a lot of company at Kaer Morhen. Although...Alucard does visit now, from time to time. I probably should get more blankets…” 

He looked at the fine fabric under his hand and wondered just how expensive such a thing would be. Probably not too bad. Certainly not as much as armor or weapons. Alucard liked water colors, blues and greens. Maybe something like that. Hell, maybe Eskel would get lucky and find a damn fabric merchant who needed something killed. 

“I could take you shopping,” Dracula offered. “After all, I'm partly responsible for Alucard’s wanderings.”

Eskel looked at him, a little surprised. That fluttering feeling in his stomach was back, both pleasant and confusing. “You like to buy me things.” There was a question in there somewhere, but Eskel couldn’t quite articulate it. 

“Hmm,” Dracula was watching him with amused eyes. “I do.”

“Clothes, I understand. You get to see me dressed up in them. But other stuff?” Eskel raised up a hand in a placating gesture. “Not that I’m objecting. I’m just...confused.”

“It’s fun. Giving you things. Or Geralt. Alucard doesn’t need anything of mine.”

He had to nod at that. It was true, Alucard could supply himself with more than enough of basically anything he could want. Their little trip to Castlevania City proved that. Still, it felt sad somehow. Dracula and Alucard shared a deep connection, yet there seemed to be a huge chasm separating them at the same time.

“Alright. Could I give you gifts from time to time, too?” 

Dracula looked surprised for a moment, before he hid the expression.

“If you so desire,” Dracula said. Eskel noticed that whenever Dracula felt wrong footed or was trying to hide his feelings, he defaulted to a more formal way of speaking.

“I’ll keep it in mind, then,” he said. “I never know what strange things I might find on the Path.”

Already he was thinking of potential flowers he could harvest. It seemed unlikely that Dracula had ever gotten flowers as a gift. Prior to this past year anyways; surely Geralt had given him some by now. If he hadn’t, Eskel was going to go smack some sense into him. Alucard might enjoy some flowering herbal tea balls, too. Those were easy enough to make, and Eskel noticed how he stuck to light, fragrant drinks in Castlevania City.

It took him a moment to realize it, but Dracula had gone very silent next to him on the bed. There was this tingling on the back of his neck, and he just knew that Dracula was staring at him. _Intently_. 

Decades of hunting monsters kept him loose and alert under that predatory gaze. Even still, it was a bit of a struggle not to freeze in place. 

Eskel turned his head to look. For all intents and purposes, Dracula was still reclining at his ease on the bed, his head rested on one fist. But his eyes were a brighter red than usual, his lips were held just slightly open, showing just a hint of fang, and there was a relaxed tension in his body. It was the same type of readiness that all big predators got while waiting out something particularly tasty looking. 

For all that, Dracula was still in control of himself. How tenuous that control was, Eskel wasn’t sure. 

They were in Dracula’s bed. Dracula had already lost himself enough to drag Eskel here.

Damn, but that bite really must have hit Dracula just right. That was a little surprising, given how often Dracula showed his affection through his teeth, nibbling and marking up Eskel like he was a favored chew toy. Maybe it was different when someone bit him back.

“You know my limits for today,” Eskel said quietly. “What would you like to do within them? I don’t want to make you unhappy.”

“Six or seven orgasms would be nice,” Dracula sighed, “but not pushing me more would probably be beneficial to you.”

Eskel huffed a little in amusement, but nodded. He turned his body so he was facing Dracula, and looked at him up and down. There was still a flutter of nerves in his chest, but he trusted Dracula to keep to his word. 

While Eskel had stripped out of his most uncomfortable items of clothing, Dracula still had on his armored boots and belt. Not very enjoyable to cuddle up to, even if they both were used to doing everything in full armor, up to and including sleeping.

“Can I take off your belt and boots? Then we could cuddle for a while? If that’s alright.” Eskel’s cheeks were a little warm, but not nearly as much as he expected. He remembered what it was like undressing Dracula more than a week earlier, what it felt like to make sure they both were comfortable and warm in Geralt’s bed. It was good then, to take care of Dracula when he needed it. Perhaps it would be just as nice now.

Dracula looked at him for a moment, before he rolled onto his back.

“Alucard was right, you really are good at the cuddling thing,” Dracula murmured and extended his arm in invitation.

A pleased smile stretched across Eskel’s face, and he crawled forward across the bed. “Belt and boots first. Platemail isn’t very fun to curl up next to.”

He ran a hand across the face of the massive belt buckle at Dracula’s waist. Even the metal was warm to the touch, the same temperature as Dracula’s skin. Carefully, he slipped his fingers to the side of the metal plate and searched for the release.

“It’s unexpectedly nice to be undressed,” Dracula murmured, lacing his hands behind his head and clearly enjoying Eskel’s attentions. There was something in the way he was very clearly taking pleasure in Eskel’s actions that brought a faint blush to Eskel’s cheeks.

With a little more careful fiddling, the belt came unlatched. Eskel tugged at one end, and raised an eyebrow to Dracula. 

“You going to help?” Eskel tugged at the belt.

“If you insist,” Dracula murmured and the belt dissolved into motes of darkness in Eskel’s hands.

“Convenient,” Eskel said, wanting to laugh at the use of power, but then he realized just what he had under his hands now that the huge belt wasn’t in the way. 

The dark leather of Dracula’s pants was stretched obscenely by the unmistakable bulge of Dracula’s cock. This close, he could also smell arousal mixed in with the scent of burning embers and blood. 

Eskel looked away, his face burning with a hot blush. He knew that Dracula was turned on. This shouldn’t be a surprise. Hell, this sort of thing had even happened before; more than once during past feedings he’d felt Dracula get hard. 

Still.

He rarely got to stare at the evidence of how he affected the vampire quite as closely. The sheer size of the bulge was kind of intimidating. The worst part was now he was thinking all about the things he’d seen on the security cameras and the shared memories from Alucard.

It took a moment for Eskel to push past his nerves and embarrassment. Damn, this was what he was signing up for when he told Dracula he might be interested in sex. Now more than ever he was relieved that he could have some time to slowly try the idea out. 

Thankfully, Dracula didn’t feel the need to comment. No doubt there would be commentary later. Next time, maybe. 

He took a breath and then he shifted down to unbuckle the greaves. It was easier than the first time he did this; he already knew where all the buckles were. He carefully and quickly pulled off the metal armor and set it aside, only to watch it disappear into a cloud of shadow the moment his hands left each piece. The boots went the same way, gone in a heartbeat after being taken off. 

Eskel crawled back up to Dracula’s torso, and fought off a shiver. This time it was from that persistent chill that had plagued him for days, rather than anything Dracula had said or done. He knew it was just a side effect of the bond with Alucard, he _knew_ it. No amount of layers would stop it. But that didn’t stop him from grabbing for the sheets and the blankets.

“Can we get under?” he asked, tugging them down. “It will be warmer.”

“Just come here,” Dracula said, offering his arm again.

Eskel shrugged a little and slipped down next to him, wrapping himself tightly around Dracula’s chest. Blankets or not, just laying chest to chest would be very warm. 

The room grew darker, the light of the burning fireplace dimmed, and the shadows around the bed deepened. Darkness encroached on the edges of the bed. Out of those shadows, shapes rose. Long, oddly jointed arms with gnarled fingers and long, wicked claws skittered over the edges of the bed. They grabbed at the thickly folded blankets at the foot of the bed, soundless and disturbingly ugly, and dragged the rich coverings up the bed, covering him and Dracula smoothly.

As ever, Eskel’s wolf medallion never reacted to Dracula’s power. But it still was a damn struggle to stay still in the face of so many demon arms moving towards him and around him. Despite the fact that he knew he was in no danger, he ended up gripping Dracula a little tighter until they were gone. 

“Did you just call up some demons because you didn’t want to move long enough to get under the covers?” he asked, not really sure what to think of what he saw.

He could feel the way Dracula shrugged under him.

“Yes.”

Dracula moved his arm, worming it under Eskel and pulling him closer in one effortless hug. It was always a shock to his system, how strong the vampires were. Both Dracula and Alucard could just manhandle him like Eskel was a tiny little slip of a boy instead of a warrior.

Damn, but Dracula was warm. That heat was doubled by the thick blankets covering them. Eskel curled right around Dracula’s body and let out a pleased little grumble. 

There was just a moment of awkwardness as Eskel felt himself press up against Dracula’s still hard cock. But Dracula wasn’t doing anything about it. He simply let Eskel settle against him, though his arm was tight around Eskel’s upper body. 

When Dracula didn’t make any other move, Eskel relaxed a little more. He let his head lay pillowed on Dracula’s shoulder and wrapped one leg around Dracula’s waist. 

He tried to nose up into Dracula’s neck, but it was just out of reach. Just a little too far to be truly comfortable. Eskel shifted around a little more, dragging himself farther up on top of Dracula’s body. With a little more squirming and pulling, he was able to properly settle his head right into the crook of Dracula’s neck. That was just right, just perfect, the way he was able to get a nose full of Dracula’s scent.

He jumped when he felt Dracula’s warm, big hand on his knee, fingers wrapping firmly over the bone. He froze and sucked in a breath when Dracula moved his leg, pulling it up enough Eskel’s thigh was now laying across Dracula’s lap, the hard bulge of his cock pressing into the inside of Eskel’s thigh.

“Do not move,” Dracula said in a low, raspy voice that sent little shivers up Eskel’s back. “Stay like _this_.”

A half dozen different feelings and sensations tangled up inside of Eskel’s head and body. Dracula was so damn warm, as was his cock against Eskel’s thigh. He could feel the heat of it, even through both their pants. Now that he wasn’t supposed to move at all, he felt the sudden urge to shift and settle further into place. That would damn well just invite issues, though, so Eskel stayed frozen. Tense.

He lay there, heart in his throat, with his lips just a hair's breadth away from Dracula’s neck. His cheeks were hot from embarrassment and maybe something else too, and his back was tight with tension.

“Breathe, Eskel,” Dracula murmured, definite laughter in his voice. “You have one of those, too.”

Eskel huffed out an irritated breath. Now his face was practically burning from the teasing, but he did relax a little. Dracula was right. This was nothing to get worked up over. Especially not since they’d already been pressed together like this several times over by now. “It’s different when we might end up doing something about it one of these days.”

“Might?” There was the amusement again in Dracula’s voice, the rasp deeper and slower in a way Eskel only heard when the man was amused.

“Might,” Eskel said as firmly as he could.

He could feel how Dracula’s chest expanded under him on the next breath, could feel the way he exhaled, hard, and then the vibration when he spoke again.

“_Will_, Eskel. _Will_ do.” Dracula sounded utterly convinced of this. “Just not now.”

Damn, but Eskel had to give him points for confidence and persistence. He opened his mouth, then paused to really think about what he might say. 

Rather than rising to the argument, Eskel just said, “We’ll see how it goes.” He kept his tone light and interested, making sure Dracula knew that he was still curious. 

“Do you want to sleep?” Dracula asked, his voice softer now. His fingers were at Eskel’s back, tracing tiny patterns over the naked skin there.

That thought was very tempting. The idea of getting some real rest in the safe circle of Dracula’s arms was a very nice one. Not only would he get the comfort of cuddling up to Dracula for as long as he wanted, but he’d be safe and warm for the whole time as well, wrapped up in Dracula’s power as much as his body. A hand in his hair and the soothing scent of burning embers, blood, and warmth in his nose.

Another hard shiver raced through him and he licked his lips. “I like feeling your body next to mine, like how you hold me. Could we wait a little while? Let me feel you warm around me for a bit, before I try to get to sleep?”

“We have time,” Dracula said, slow and relaxed, absolutely sure of what he was saying. “As much as we want.”

Eskel relaxed further against him and breathed out in pleasure and relief. He couldn’t resist tightening his hold on Dracula for a moment, relishing the feel of all that warm skin next to his. Then he let all the tension drain out of his body, let every worry leave his head, and melted into that embrace. 

Dracula was right, they had time.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Q: 460k words later and they have finally decided that one day, they might get around to screwing. I was not fucking around with the slow burn tag, lololol :D


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes from Q: This is it folks. The end of the fic. A huge thanks to Dira for betareading for us. You are a hero and I am not even joking about that. Thank you SO MUCH.
> 
> Thank you also to everyone who stuck with us and gave this monster fic a shot. It's been a wild ride. A ride that is not over, since there is more fic written that still needs to be proof read, haha. 
> 
> For now, thanks, and we hope you enjoy the wrap up :)

Eithne, Silver Eyes, Queen of the Dryads and ruler of Brokilon, stared at the corpse that the trees had dragged to her. 

_Humans_, she thought with disgust. _Always thinking they can run in where they are not wanted._

But what an unusual human to have brought to her. 

In all her years as the ruler of Brokilon forest, the dryad Eithne had never seen a mage from Kaedwen attempt to breach her borders. The heraldry was clear. While Eithne had no mercy or interest for the human kingdoms, that did not mean she was unaware of them. To know the enemy was to be prepared for them, so she had begrudgingly learned of the lands beyond her forest. If only so she could know exactly how to break them when they tried to invade. 

“He didn’t fight, lady,” the elf said. She was a Scoia’tael, an elvish guerilla fighter. She was built slim, like all elven women with fair skin and large, green eyes. Her dark hair was pulled back into a braid, a green cap with a squirrel's tail attached to the side hiding the dark color but doing nothing to hide her pointy ears. She was scarred, like most of the Scoia’tael that took shelter along the borders. She carried the scars proudly, a proof of the battles she fought and won against the humans.

They’d taken refuge along the edges of the forest, darting out to strike at the humans and then retreating to the protected boughs of the great trees. “He just begged to be taken to the ruler of these lands.”

Eithne paced around the body, and absently pulling back her long pale green hair. The body looked fairly intact. Barring the arrows sticking out of the head and chest, anyways. She eyed the one in his head, and then raised an eyebrow to the elf.

“He brought fire into the woods.” The elf shrugged.

That was explanation enough. Fire was strictly forbidden and punishable by death. Being human alone would have likely gotten him killed, for Eithne did not allow them in her woods. But bringing fire was beyond the pale. 

“It is well that you eliminated the threat,” she said firmly. “You have guarded the forest well, and have our thanks.” 

It wasn’t just the royal we she was speaking with. Eithne was an extremely powerful dryad; she listened to the trees and the animals and all the sounds of nature. It was their thanks that she expressed as well as her own.

“It is our duty, and our honor, to guard this place.” The elf put a hand to her armored chest and bowed, the end of her black braid sneaking forward. When she straightened up, she looked to the side, seemingly nervous. 

“What? Speak.” Eithne frowned. 

Something about all of this was badly amiss. This mage should have no reason to come to her woods, asking for her. Or Iorveth, the head of the Scoia’tael. Asking an elf for the leader of these lands could mean any number of things, depending on how ignorant the human asking was. 

This human’s arrival coincided with the shattering and remaking of power in the north. Every dryad felt it, every tree quaked with the sudden influx of dark power. But for all that it was _dark_ power, Eithne was not convinced that it was _evil_. The potential was there, surely, and more so than with many other types of energies. But it was still simply potential. 

The dark energy had broken through the boundaries between realms, forced its way in, and flooded the world with its power. But for all its forcefulness in getting into this world, it remained passive once it took over its foothold. It dug deep, grew into the very earth, but it did not interact with much in this world. At least not _yet_.

Now there was a human who had come here asking for entry, a magic user, hailing from that same land that this dark power had settled in.

Equally disturbing was the fact that she and others of her kind had gazed into the sacred waters of the forest, and the futures they had seen were changing. Prior to a year and a few months ago, their futures looked as they had looked for years. The time of Ithlinne’s Prophecy seemed to be bearing down on them, the elder races were being extinguished, and humans sprawled across the land like a vicious disease. 

But then hints of darkness started to seep into their visions. Slowly at first, but then gaining more and more strength.

She feared that these visions foretold this dark power breaking into the world and settling in the human lands to the northeast. 

What was worse was that the visions continued to become more extreme. Some showed a land, peaceful and vibrant, with space to grow for trees and elves, all mixed with humans and creatures of darkness. 

Some showed a wasteland of death, with the undead feasting on any living creature that moved. A sky perpetually darkened by boiling black clouds, and a grim castle spreading across the land, growing dark tower after dark tower.

The waters didn’t show them everything. They hadn't shown her the destruction of the neighboring forest. It came out of nowhere. An ordinary day, no signs of the incoming catastrophe. And then, in the space of just a few heartbeats, this great, dark power coming out of nowhere and laying waste to everything in sight. The trees screamed; they screamed for hours as every speck of life was burned out of the very earth.

Something had changed in their world, and drastically. Their future, the future of all living things, was in flux. More so than perhaps it had ever been in her memory. Even Ithlinne’s Prophecy, which they'd always thought was unchanging, seemed to fade in the face of such great power. The darkness was hot, potentially capable of burning the world down to a cinder, and it created a strange counterpower to the endless cold of Ithlinne’s Prophecy.

And here was a dead human envoy, sent from the land that now was home to darkness personified. 

“He had these on him.” The elf held up a bundle of scrolls. “Official correspondence from King Henselt of Kaedwen.” She shrugged a little. “Or it looks like it anyways. It’s his seal. As far as we can tell, it’s authentic.”

“And what does this human want of Brokilon?” Eithne asked coldly.

The elf swallowed hard. “It says that Henselt has brokered a deal in the name of all the Northern Kingdoms. The dark power that resides in their kingdom will lend its forces to stop any incursion from the Empire of Nilfgaard. In exchange, every kingdom in the north must allow witchers safe passage in their realm. And should any attack those who bear the symbol of the dark power, the ruler of that fell place will wage war on all.”

Eithne blinked at her. 

“Witchers.”

The elf just looked at her, shrugged, and shook her head a little, obviously just as baffled.

“There are even fewer of them than there are of the ancient races,” Eithne said, walking a half circle around the body. Her feet made no noise as they stepped over dry leaves, not a single twig snapped under her foot. She was the forest, every plant and every animal in it. 

Eithne had had dealings with witchers in the past. While they weren’t necessarily welcome in the forest, they weren’t killed on sight as humans were. Geralt of Riva had come to the forest’s aid in particular, and his Child of Surprise had spent time here as well. Eithne still mourned the fact that Ciri had not stayed to become a dryad, but it was not meant to be. 

Normally, Eithne would have simply dismissed whatever matters this human had come to them on. Treaties made by the kingdoms of humans had no bearing on the forest, and lived and died even faster than the humans themselves did. They were of no concern to her.

But this dark power, and the visions of the future associated with it, gave her pause. 

Eithne knew deep in her bones, deep in the roots of the trees buried in the nourishing earth, that she could not ignore this. What part she and those in her care had yet to play, she couldn’t know. But whatever it was, it would have far reaching effects.

“Hear me,” she said quietly, her voice carried on every leaf and branch, out through the massive ancient trees of the forest to flutter up near every sentient creature in her woods. “Witchers shall not be harmed entering our woods, only brought to me.”

As for the rest...well, humans were never welcome, no matter what livery they were wearing. The dryads would protect their borders from intrusion regardless. 

“Find Iorveth and give him a message from me,” Eithne said to the elf. “I find myself unexpectedly in need of eyes and ears out in the human lands. And, perhaps, also a voice to let our intentions be heard. It would please me if he would be willing to accomplish this for me.”

Iorveth was well versed in navigating the human lands, a deadly fighter, and wickedly intelligent. He also hated the humans even more than she did, which was an impressive feat to say the least. Eithne was on very good terms with him, and the two had been working together to protect their various peoples for decades.

He’d be the perfect choice to go out and gauge the situation. Also, the fact she chose him as her envoy should be a message in itself.

With a wave of one hand Eithne dismissed the elf, already considering potential contingency plans. For the first time in years beyond counting, the forest faced a new threat. She and those she tended to could not be caught unawares.

\--

_A curse on that bloody wall_, Henselt thought to himself. He rubbed his eyes and leaned an elbow on the map table. 

They were still camped outside Dracula’s city. Damn it all, but he couldn’t leave the walls now. Steward Orlaith was obviously nearly as interested in war as she was with peace. The negotiation went both better and worse than expected, true, but Henselt had not forgotten the trail of shadow demons that had trailed after Orlaith as she came out to parley. Nor had he forgotten the terms of their agreement. All it would take was just _one_ of his neighbors attacking a soldier of the dark city, and they would all be beset by demons. He had to leave his army here as a bulwark against anything that might come out of those walls.

The fact the door that the Steward came out of disappeared as suddenly as it appeared wasn't doing him any favors. He felt as if it was a deliberate slight against him. The fact that his army had to squat under the wall like a poor cousin begging for favors sat sourly on his stomach.

He’d ordered permanent barracks built, as well as additional buildings for storage and training. There were plans for a manor to be built too, something of a summer home. 

Not that Henselt had any desire to ever spend time here. Just looking at the vast blackness of the dark city’s walls made his something tight stir in his chest, some pull or tug on what he could only guess was his soul. A reminder of the deal that pressed down on him.

But a manor would be necessary. He’d already begun to hear back from the envoys he’d sent out to his neighbors. Most of the rest of the Northern Kingdoms had already sent envoys of their own. 

Sent them _here_. 

Even though Ard Carrigh was his capital and the seat of power in Kaedwen, the envoys were coming here. To this shitstain of a town. All so they could meet with whoever might deign to come out of those black walls. 

Henselt could ignore them, of course. He was the king. He could make life difficult, could force them away, or even ban anyone but his own chosen representative from talking to the Steward. Years of experience with politics told him that the effort would be futile, though. Spies, mages, and diplomats would find a way, and worse, this would only encourage clandestine agreements between the dark city and other powers. 

Already there’d been reports of denizens from Dracula’s city making their way to Goose Landing and making deals with the locals. Small things so far, little barters for food or some such nonsense. 

But if Henselt wasn’t careful, he’d find himself with more trouble on his hands than he could handle. After all, _he_ had made a deal with Orlaith for access to a demon army. What was to stop someone else from doing the same, only with eyes on the crown of Kaedwen for themselves? Orlaith’s deal with Henselt was not reliant on him being king, and he damn well knew it.

It was far better for Henselt to simply make a place for all the eventual political wheeling and dealing, and have direct eyes on everything that happened. Thus, a manor had to be built, because right now there was bloody nothing out here but woods, snow, and rock. 

As of yet, he had no earthly idea who he would set in charge of it. There were several good options, each with their own set of advantages and baggage. All Henselt knew was that he himself did not want to be here if he could avoid it.

All of the building had set in motion a flurry of activity, and it was expensive as hell. Henselt’s coffers were bleeding to set up what his own army needed, but the sudden inrush of foreign dignitaries had brought in fresh cash to the region, too. And following on their heels was a steady stream of merchants and entertainers.

Something would have to be done about the local supply chain. The manor could be a good solution to that as well. The woods here were good for lumber, but he could likely make hives, goats, rabbits, fowl, and orchards set up to produce. Enough to supply his own people as well as sell to everyone else. 

That was a long term solution though, and in the short term there were still issues.

Right now there were shortages in nearly everything, from food to cut lumber to labor. Money helped grease the wheels, but not everything could be solved with coin. Locals had abandoned their normal trapping and hunting to help cut trees and work as unskilled labor. He even had to order some of the other government buildings in the nearest areas to be demolished and the resources reused. The fact it was early spring was not doing them any favors, most of the roads being nothing more than muddy swamps that would rather sink a cart than pass it. All of that was only making his mood that much more foul.

The map he was staring at had the tentative plans for new construction on it, as well as a list of where various envoys had set up residence. Many had bought up land and were building their own little embassies, but others seemed content to wait until new buildings were made available for rent. 

What was most concerning was the countries that he _hadn’t_ heard back from yet. Temeria and Redania had sent people already, as had Aedirn. There were hirelings from Dol Bathanna as well, though no official envoys; who only knew what the blasted elves there would think of this whole scenario. 

Only about half the Hengfors League region had sent people. The rest may or may not have been on their way; their realms were small in comparison to Kaedwen, Temaria, and Redania. They’d once been the Eastern March of Kovir, and were crammed in between the northern Dragon and Kestral mountain ranges. The geography alone was reason enough for the delay in response, so Henselt couldn’t be sure what was simple travel difficulties and what was actual disregard.

Envoys from Kovir and Poviss hadn’t shown yet, and Henselt had to wonder if they even would. They were small, but ridiculously wealthy. They, as well as Hengfors League, had all stayed neutral in the last war with Nilfgaard. It was hard to say if they would agree to this new alliance. Henselt knew they could afford to remain neutral because Nilfgaard wasn’t at their borders yet.

Henselt didn’t expect anyone from Skellige, but who the hell even knew what those pirates would do. 

Out of pure precaution, he’d sent an envoy to Brokilon as well. That poor bastard was a dead man walking and everyone involved knew it, so Henselt made sure to pick someone with a family that would be well compensated for the man’s loss. He’d offered an even better reward for a successful return, but Henselt was under no illusions that it would be paid out. 

While Brokilon wasn’t an official part of the Northern Kingdoms, that was only because they shot everyone who entered their woods. Henselt would have burnt the whole place to the ground if it was on his border, but it wasn’t and he couldn’t, so instead he simply needed to make sure they knew not to attack Dracula’s people. If that was even possible. The last thing he wanted was to lose his soul because some green tree wench couldn’t keep her arrows to herself. 

The whole damn thing gave him a migraine. 

Regardless, he was done with this damn place. Everything he still needed to do could be done from the comfort of his own palace. 

As tempting as it was to leave Sabrina here, he knew it was much wiser to keep her close by. He would need her advice, and he also didn’t like leaving her to her own devices. That would only brew trouble. 

For now, Merwin and Glanster both were staying. Neither was a good long term overseer for the area. Merwin was young and impetuous, and had already shown a shocking lack of spine where the uncanny was concerned. Glanster was far more experienced, and cautious to boot, but he had some unreasonable ideas about the nature of religion. 

Maybe he _should_ leave Sabrina here. 

It didn’t matter. He could deal with it later.

Henselt rolled up the map he was looking at and rang for a servant.

“Get my party ready to go,” he told the man who showed up. “I’m done with this godsforsaken place. I want to have everything ready to go within the hour and back in Ard Carraigh by dinner time.”

“Sire,” The valet said in acknowledgement, and helped Henselt into his furred cloak. 

Orders were given and people rushed around to make his will a reality. As he waited, Henselt stepped out to once again stare at the impossibly tall, solid walls off in the distance. 

Barracks, manor, and a line of _ballista_ too. That's what this place needed.

Henselt scowled and tried to remind himself about all the power he’d just gained. A demon army at his beck and call. A new city of diplomats. Powerful allies and foreign gold flowing into his land.

None of that stopped the chill in his chest or the creeping sense of dread he got when he looked at those walls.

\--

“No.” The words were not shouted, they were calm and sure as the boy stared at Philippa unflinchingly.

It wasn’t the first time Radovid refused her advice, and every time before she made sure her will prevailed. There were ways to punish youngsters in ways nobody would notice; she knew because she had used them before. He was only fourteen now, still almost two years away from gaining his crown. It worried her, that he kept defying her more and more, despite the punishments he suffered. She really regretted that he no longer seemed attached to his horses the way he used to as a small child. Making him watch them die a slow and painful death each time he set his will against her was a very useful tool. These days there really wasn’t anything he got attached to. Maybe she should have varied her punishments more but she just didn’t have the time to spend so much effort on the brat.

Recently there was something in his eyes she was surprised to recognize as hatred he wasn’t even trying to hide.

She paused with the pen halfway to the parchment.

This wouldn’t do. Not with him coming closer to his coronation.

“I don’t need your agreement to pass this law,” she said, making sure to twist her lips in a derisive laugh. “The Council has the power to decide matters like this. I’m merely trying to teach you how to be a good ruler.”

“With Dijkstra’s disappearance, the council is mostly you, isn’t it?” Radovid said. 

“The council is comprised of the highest nobles in Redania,” Philippa said, aware of the ears in the room. “I am merely one of many who serve this kingdom.”

“I am learning,” Radovid responded quietly, “I am learning a lot.”

Something about the way he said that made Philippa’s eyes narrow. 

Radovid would have to be broken to heel, and quickly. 

This situation with Dijkstra had left Philippa scrambling to consolidate power in this country. Dijkstra was an uneasy partner, it was true, but he was competent, intelligent, and ruthless. Over the course of decades of effort and spycraft, Dijkstra had cultivated a vast network of informants, thugs, and allies. While he didn’t always see eye to eye with Philippa, at the very least she’d always been able to count on him utilizing his network and, just as importantly, preventing anyone else from nudging into the power structure.

Now every single part of Dijkstra’s carefully constructed power base was floating in the wind. Free for her to snatch up, but also free for anyone else. No doubt several of them would try to gain some independence, perhaps build more power on their own or even take over where Dijkstra left off. What was more worrying, some were obviously trying to gain favor with Radovid, in the hopes he would give them influence once he gained his crown. They would have to be crushed. 

With Dijkstra’s absence, Philippa was suddenly swamped with an overabundance of tasks to handle. Not only did she have to wrangle a now panicking court, but she had to deal with previously stable political influences instantly becoming wild cards. That was on top of everything else they’d already been dealing with. 

Novigrad was still pushing for some kind of action to be taken to stop the rise of dark powers in the kingdom. The Order of the Flaming Rose had started to come in handy, but Dijkstra’s man in the Order had magically disappeared as well, with rumors of black hounds being shouted from the few remaining survivors of that incident. That meant that Philippa would have to deal with Seigfried. 

Philippa _hated_ Siegfried. 

A more pious, goodie two shoes, stick up the ass clergy member she had never seen. And whereas before, Grandmaster Siegfried had been content to sit back in his massive fortress and train up new troops for her to subtly twist into her service, now that daft man had decided he needed to be _involved_. He’d showed up at court, in force, and had set his mind towards talking to everyone he could about what had happened to Dijkstra, neatly making it impossible for her to sweep the whole affair under a rug. 

The fact Foltest was using the whole sordid affair as an excuse to further eviscerate the order in Temeria wasn’t doing her any favors. Foltest didn’t like the Order, but he was officially pillaging their coffers and taking over their properties under the flimsy excuse of remuneration for losses Temeria suffered because of their actions. All in all, Philippa speculated that Foltest already took over twice the worth of that forest and was still going, audacious enough to make demands of Siegfried himself.

Then there was the envoy from Henselt. 

The dark power that had knocked every member of the Lodge into a screaming migraine was apparently a city in Kaedwen, and Henselt had gone and made himself a damn deal with them. Philippa did not like the coincidence of it all. Not just one or two appearances of dark powers at work, but several all in rapid succession.

There was the dragon in Novigrad. That could be dismissed. Perhaps it was a one-off. But then Dijkstra’s spies had brought news that perhaps witchers were involved. Another group of people she hated, but at least they were _useful_. Then whatever-it-was had destroyed a huge portion of the Order of Flaming Rose in Temeria, along with miles and miles of forest. Shortly after that, this new dark power had settled in Kaedwen. Then infernal hounds were sent to Redania, dragging off both Dijkstra and one of his assets. And now Henselt’s man was saying that he’d made a _deal_. 

Something was amok here. Something connected all of this together. She’d thought it might have been one of the Lodge at first, but after so many incidents, and after seeing the hounds herself...no. It had to be something else.

Yennefer had been in the court when Dijkstra was taken. 

Philippa would have bet her megascope that Yennefer knew exactly what was going on. Unfortunately, Yennefer hadn’t stuck around to be questioned. Wise on her part. Philippa would not have been gentle, though Yennefer herself was formidable. Very formidable. Approaching her head on wasn’t a safe thing to do, so maybe it was good she disappeared so fast. Philippa knew enough about herself to know her temper sometimes took the better of her. Best do it with some preparation.

Between the mess left here at the court and the tensions between the Order, the nobility, and Novigrad, Philippa didn’t have the time to track Yennefer down and try to force the information out of her. 

And now Radovid was looking rebellious. 

He no longer feared her punishments, and his eyes shone with barely concealed guile. Radovid was young now, but he would not always be so. 

Perhaps it was time to remind him again of why he feared her, and why she would always get her way. Perhaps a little physical torture under the guise of teaching him to defend himself. Maybe play upon his need to be a manly, strong king.

“Yes, my lord,” Philippa said sweetly. “You are learning. Now I have another lesson for you.”

\---

“I’m thinking of calling a summit,” King Foltest said to his councilors, somewhat surprising Triss.

They were in the council chamber for their now-daily meeting, each looking over the latest reports on how the situation in the southwest wasteland and its surrounding countryside was going. The news was grim, but not as bad as it could have been. 

That section of land was still utterly barren, but the levels of magical corruption were dwindling. Wandering demons were still a problem, as were the various other monsters that such dark powers attracted. Foltest had already sent word out far and wide that any witchers available would be rewarded handsomely for their hunting skills, all paid for by the coin confiscated from the Order of the Flaming Rose. 

Refugees were still a problem, but at least they were a relatively orderly one. Food shortages weren’t an issue yet, over all Temeria was a bountiful land, but prices had gone up. It made for high tensions, and it was something everyone wanted to keep an eye on. Several of the former chapter houses for the Order were being converted into emergency support centers for those who were in need of aid. 

The priestesses of Melitele had stepped in to oversee their conversion. They often specialized in healing and growth. Melitele was the goddess protector of farms, lumbermen, and foresters. It made sense that they would want to help those of their charge who were in need. Surprisingly, several priestesses of Lyfia had joined in too. Lyfia was a nature goddess, and one often worshiped by the non-human races as well. The elves called her Dana Meadbh, and those who paid her homage were a private lot. Even the druids from the Bleobheris circle send their people out to aid the refugees and calm the odd weather around the destroyed wasteland.

It made for a strange collection of peoples in Temeria. Triss wasn’t really sure what to make of it, nor could she foresee what might come of it all. Perhaps seeing peoples of many races and beliefs coming together and helping each other might foster goodwill. Or maybe the stress of it all would cause tempers to bubble over and create an even bigger problem. 

Either way, it was something they would all have to keep an eye on.

In the meantime, Foltest had been handling the situation as best he could. The Order was all but abolished from Temeria now, and already there was a new archpriestess appointed, this one an abbess from the cult of Melitele. Foltest had also kept the nobles relatively in check and had reorganized his border troops to help compensate for the monster attacks. 

And now apparently he wanted a summit.

“What kind of summit?” Duke Hereward asked, leaning back in his chair. The man looked damn tired, but he’d been doing his job well. None of the highborn were doing more than grumbling, and there had even been a brief excited squabble over who would be the new envoy sent up to Kaedwen. “And is this really the right time?”

“It couldn’t happen immediately,” Foltest mused, one gloved hand rubbing his chin. He was in his traditional armor and fine velvets and his golden crown gleamed softly in the candlelight. “There is too much to prepare. Enough has changed with the political climate of the Northern Kingdoms that I feel it might behoove the leaders of our countries to meet and discuss the goings on. I want to meet this Lord Dracula, and I think it’s high time the rest of us had a chat as well.”

“Why not wait a year or two?” Constable Natalis asked. “Radovid comes of age soon, and at that point who knows how the country will shift. Nilfgaard has been quiet, too. We could let things settle for a while, try and get ourselves organized first before inviting so many foreign powers into our country.”

“Assuming they’d even want to come here,” Triss added. “The last four summits were held at Loc Muinne.”

Loc Muinne was once a vast elven city; years ago it had been destroyed by the Redanians. The ruins were still inhabited, though there weren’t near the numbers that the original structures could support. It was a good neutral location, being mostly centrally located and not under any particular country’s jurisdiction. 

“Yes, yes, Loc Muinne would probably be wisest.” Foltest waved his hand dismissively. “But it cannot wait until Radovid has taken power. Henselt is trying to organize a several country wide alliance with a power none of us have ever even heard of, and he’s made one of the conditions of breaking said alliance all out war with a city of magic users. He could drag us all into _another_ war, and I am not convinced that this new power could even supply what has been offered.”

“I am, sire,” Triss interjected. “I have no doubts that Lord Dracula’s armies are everything that Envoy Tovshal claimed they could be.”

“Still, it is unseemly for Henselt to attempt such a treaty without even consulting other rulers,” Foltest persisted. “And you also have freely admitted that the danger of defaulting is a real risk as well, have you not Triss?”

She had to nod her head. “It’s a risk. I’m not sure how big a risk, but it’s something.”

“And I must reiterate, nothing is known of this Lord Dracula.” Foltest looked around to each of his councilors, eyebrows high on his forehead. “I, for one, would very much like to know who we are getting into bed with.”

Triss was grateful for the years she spent in politics because she managed to keep her face straight at the unfortunate choice of phrase. Geralt probably wouldn’t. Objectively speaking, she had no idea how so many women fell for him when his way with words was less than spectacular most of the time. Still, she was one of those women, so she couldn’t judge.

“I would advise caution,” Triss said, “but getting to know Lord Dracula away from Henselt’s influence is a good idea. If he is as new to this world as the demon city’s appearance suggests, it could be beneficial to all to show him other parts of the world than only Kaedwen.”

“We could have an end of summer summit,” Foltest mused. “There would be the standard partying and political manoeuvring and drinking, but we could also have some hunting trips and other activities. We could make a whole thing of it.”

“You’d have to take with you a fair regiment of guards, just for safety’s sake,” Constable Natalis said, drumming his fingers on the table. “Maybe some specialists too, in addition to your personal guard. For the summit itself, we could come up with some kind of competition for our best fighters or troops. Maybe a shooting competition, horse riding…that could be a good way to judge the level of training his soldiers have.”

“I should send word to Geralt,” Foltest mused, nodding to himself. “Unlike some other countries, witchers have always been welcome in Temeria. Hiring a witcher or _three_ as bodyguards would make a statement. Besides,” he waved his hand dismissively, “witchers are exceptionally skilled. They’d be a useful addition to any armed force.”

“They aren’t used to working with a group,” Natalis grumbled, but didn’t bring up any other objection. “And there is no guarantee they would answer the summons at all.”

Foltest shrugged. “True, but it cannot hurt to try. If none answer, then so be it. But I’d rather make the attempt first than get to the summit and discover that others have beaten me to the punch.” He smiled a little smugly. “And since I’m the one who will be calling for a summit, I can get a head start on hiring.”

Triss stopped herself from rolling her eyes, but only barely. The whole idea of a convocation of rulers had only just been spoken into the world and already the one upmanship had started. 

Foltest’s friendship with Geralt, which was up until now looked at by other rulers as a strange hobby, would pay off, too. Unlike Henselt and the other Norther’s rulers, Foltest could actually get some witchers to come at his invitation, especially the famous Geralt of Rivia. She wondered how Geralt would play this. Foltest was friendly with Geralt, but he was still a king and one couldn’t afford to deny a king.

“I think the summit would be a good idea,” Triss reiterated, then paused a moment and licked her lips. “Have you considered inviting Emperor Emhyr as well? If part of the goal of this is to more firmly cement an alliance between the Northern Kingdoms and prevent future war, it would behoove everyone to have a representative of Nilfgaard present as well. They would see that they’d be facing a united front and one with new allies as well. It could be a great deterrent.”

“Do you think he would really show?” Duke Hereward asked, his eyes narrowed speculatively. 

“Him personally? Seems unlikely. But there would be no downsides to him sending an envoy,” Triss said. “After all, ostensibly, these are times of peace.” She gave them all a dry look.

Foltest and Natalis both snorted in amusement. 

“Yes, that would probably be a wise idea,” Foltest said. “If nothing else, it maintains the illusion that the Northern Kingdoms are willing to deal with him, regardless of whether or not we actually will.” His lips tugged downward and he rubbed his fingers together, a pensive gesture on him. “If and when Nilfgaard goes on the attack, chances are it will be at _our_ borders. I’ve no love for the southerners and I would fight to keep Temeria free, but it would be good if we could avoid that. War is a brutal thing, and the Temerian people deserve peace.” 

Triss listened to it and didn’t know what to feel. The idea had merit, yes, but then she remembered Dracula and his easy use of power, how naturally he twisted the space around him to fit his needs. There was never a Sorceress that would use her power so freely, no mage. She couldn’t even imagine the reaction of the invited nobles to his particular kind of personality.

It seemed like asking for trouble. But she couldn’t really see a way out of it either. Especially not while continuing to pretend she knew nothing about Dracula or his purpose for being here.

So Triss kept her mouth shut while Foltest and the rest of his council discussed the pros and cons, and started setting the wheels in motion to make it all happen.

The whole time she couldn’t help but wonder how Dracula would react to such an invitation.

\--

Emhyr rubbed his eyes and closed them for a moment. The invitation that had arrived today was definitely not what he expected. He was used to sending his own invitations out or subtly pressing people into inviting his envoys where they definitely were not wanted. He didn’t expect Foltest to make such a bold move, so fast. The man was really pressing the advantage while he had it.

The punishment for false reports was death by torture, so he was forced to believe that there actually was a demon city in the Blue Mountains and that Henselt had struck a deal with the owner of that city. But other than that the rest of the information was extremely patchy and often just useless.

Things had been going so well. The situation with the Northern Kingdoms was coming to fruition. After months of throwing coin, manpower, and energy into destabilizing the region, there were finally some results. The Order of the Flaming Rose had been incited to rampant witch hunts, sowing chaos in Temeria, its vassal states, Redania, and some of that effort had even leaked into Kaedwen, Lyria, and Aedirn. The various other tiny countries had varied effects, but Temeria was the prize that Emhyr was after. If Temeria fell, the other countries would soon follow.

And then suddenly, a vast quantity of land in Temeria had been burnt to the ground, right along with the Order of the Flaming Rose. This could have been a win anyways, as it would only cause more issues for Temeria as a whole, but somehow Foltest had managed to pull together his fracturing people. 

Emhyr’s spies in Foltest’s court had sent word that all of the Order’s possessions were being taken by Foltest, and their lands and coin were being funneled into reparations for the sudden and inexplicable destruction. Rather than turning the court into a squabbling mess, Foltest had by charm alone managed to bind his people more thoroughly together, even going so far as to invite other religious groups in to aid. As much as Emhyr was displeased with Foltest’s success, he had to admire the sheer political acumen it took to turn this situation around. 

There was some residual weakness, of course. It was child’s play to assume that military troops had been repositioned. But not nearly as much as Emhyr had hoped. 

Or, perhaps, they had been moved and he just wasn’t made aware of the fact. Because interestingly enough, just after this strange devastation happened, there had been an all out manhunt for his spy network in that area. The number of reporting, viable assets in the region had dropped by over half, and the many more had relayed that they were unable to safely transmit messages. 

It made him reliant on his information in other areas, which was vexing to say the least. 

One thing Emhyr did know for certain, was that Geralt of Rivia was somehow involved.

_Geralt._

Emhyr did not like that man, not even a little. But he did have a grudging respect for him. Geralt was competent, smarter than he appeared or presented himself as, and had a knack for being lucky.

Looking at the information that his people had gathered about Geralt of Rivia, Emhyr had to admit that the man either had an incredible skill at almost always choosing the winning side of any conflict he actually did get involved in or rather, as Emhyr’s instinct was telling him, Geralt had a knack in affecting the outcome of those conflicts. That was just another reason, in a long list of them, that made Emhyr delegate people to only following Geralt’s progress through the Northern kingdoms. 

And as far as Emhyr could tell, _something_ was going on with Geralt. 

He was related somehow to the appearance of a greater black dragon in Novigrad. Just as he was somehow related to whatever had wiped out the Order in Temeria. Somehow, whenever something big happened, Geralt of Rivia could always be found in the middle of it.

And now he’d been informed that there was a demon city in the north. Right around Kaer Morhen. Geralt’s home, insomuch that witchers ever had a home. Rootless wanderers, most of them were, unable or unwilling to see the larger picture. 

There was talk of an alliance with this new city, and word had been spread through several countries that witchers were to be given free rein across the land.

It could not be a coincidence. _Could not_. 

And where Geralt was involved, so too was Cirilla. She had to be.

_Damn, what bloody dangerous, foolish, stupid thing has he gotten my daughter involved with now?_

Cirilla was loyal to her adopted family. Emhyr respected that. He didn’t agree with her choice, but the strength of will it took to be dedicated to a particular group of people was an admirable quality. More proof that her rightful place was as his heir, and future empress of Nilfgaard. 

He knew very well that Cirilla would be difficult to convince. She was like Emhyr himself. Stubborn at times, and sure of her own purpose. Emhyr maintained that she could be shown the way. Part of that was claiming the barbarian Northern Kingdoms. Once she saw the benefits, the peace that Nilfgaard’s rule could bring, she wouldn’t be so reticent to join him. 

Yes, some of their laws were harsh. Despite that Nilfgaard was a fair place, a prosperous place. Whereas the Northern Kingdoms, in all their dubious glory, were a sprawling patchwork of atrocity, carried out by whatever despot happened to be in charge of any given bit of land. It was true that some cities there were prosperous, but many more languished in squalor and abject poverty. 

Emhyr could bring such light to those kingdoms. They would be stronger as one united empire. More profitable, safer, and healthier for all who lived there. 

If only the damn Nordlings would get it through their foolish, stubborn heads that it was more beneficial to yield than it was to fight. 

It was no matter. Emhyr would show them, and expand his own influence as well.

And like the wise, canny ruler that Emhyr was, he had more than one plan in place to ensure that the Northern Kingdoms fell. Unfortunately, even his secondary plot had hit a snag. His primary asset for that design had been captured and disappeared, though as far as his other informants were aware, that asset was still alive. Somewhere. Probably in a dungeon. Still, as long as he wasn’t dead there was still a chance for him to get free. 

It was a good plan too. Perfectly set up, with key players who were practically designed for this purpose. But even that had gone awry. If the asset couldn’t be recovered, he might have to declare the plot a lost cause. Or find a replacement, which might be tricky.

Emhyr had time, though, and every little bit of pressure he could put on his adversaries meant less attention they could keep on him.

This damn demon city was a wild card though. There were rumors of a military alliance as well. While Emhyr was inclined to take such things with a grain of salt, he couldn’t help but be a little wary. 

He looked at these events. The dragon in Novigrad, the death of the Order in Temeria, the appearance of the demon city, and a new gathering alliance. 

Something connected them. Something dangerous. Each of these events involved a vast amount of power. More interestingly, a _new_ power. One that Emhyr had no intelligence on. 

Most of these events also involved Geralt of Rivia. 

Emhyr would have to tread carefully. Very, very carefully. Whatever power had decided to start showing up in Geralt’s vicinity, it was one that Emhyr wasn’t eager to get involved with. Not without more information.

And here, to his utter shock, was an invitation from King Foltest to a summit of the rulers of the Northern Kingdoms. To discuss alliances, the missive stated. 

He expected duplicity, as a matter of course. This whole little summit would be a mass of spies, assassins, and political maneuvering that would put every event for years to come to shame. 

But this was also a chance to potentially bring some of the Northern Kingdoms under his banner peacefully. Quietly, with a minimum of effort and bloodshed. While Nilfgaard often conquered those who would not bow, they just as often lured in new vassal states with promises of peace and opportunity. Rulers who gave in were allowed to keep their seats as regional governors, and the new vassal state would then prosper under Nilfgaard’s increased infrastructure, justice, and strong military. 

Such a gain would be a boon to Emhyr. While he was emperor and very firmly in power, the people of Nilfgaard were many and some were very powerful themselves. There were rumors, rumblings really, of dissatisfaction with his desire to bring the North under his heel. 

No emperor ever lived without opposition, and so it was for Emhyr. A few of those who were responsible for the assassination of his father and Emhyr’s curse all those years ago no doubt still plotted in secret. 

This was part of the reason that Emhyr was less aggressive than he could have been in pursuing Cirilla. His court was a dangerous place, and there were more fearful weapons than swords here. Cirilla would need to be dedicated to learning the ins and outs of court, to truly becoming an empress, if she was to be successful here. For that he would need her cooperation.

As he looked at the invitation, slowly trailing his fingers over the gold embossing, another thought occurred to him. 

All of these events that lead up to this summit involved Geralt of Riva. That meant there was a very strong possibility that the witcher would be at the summit too, and possibly Cirilla with him. 

Perhaps this would be a good opportunity to speak with her. Or at least gain more information on her activities. 

Emhyr would not let it go to waste.

\---

Dracula ran the tips of his claws over the carved armrest of his throne. The Castle was vast and liked to exist in many dimensions, sometimes in ones that even he had trouble getting to. He could feel it still growing into this world, could feel it anchoring itself in this reality, could feel it reaching and burrowing, using what darkness it found and creating new pathways where needed. 

He knew he was changing the balance of this world, probably changing its very destiny by moving here, but he would no longer be separated from his lover. Alucard was deeply familiar with traversing the dark paths, with going from one world to another if he wished. 

Geralt on the other hand, hesitated. Maybe it was because he couldn’t travel under his own power. Maybe the idea of asking for the portal to open didn't sit right with him. It didn't matter now. Geralt wouldn’t have the excuse of traveling between worlds to hesitate anymore and Dracula could make sure his home, the few things he truly cared for, were protected. 

And if he was being honest with himself, it was a little bit exciting too. A new world, a new magic. It had been a while since Dracula looked forward to new things, another gift that Geralt gave him without knowing.

He would have to be cautious. Just a little. As tempting as it was to burn through this world like wildfire, Dracula knew that wasn’t the most optimal of paths. He’d destroyed the balance of a world once already when he killed the Old God Pan, and then his brother Argus. He’d tipped the balance of this world by moving his castle here. What those actions wrought, only time would tell.

Dracula wouldn’t change a single thing. Geralt was worth it. Dracula would turn this world to a cinder to protect him.

But Geralt actually _liked_ this world. Just as Alucard still favored Castlevania City. Dracula had already agreed to keep his collateral damage to a minimum when he spoke with Yennefer, though it wasn’t a _binding_ agreement. He’d not enforced it with a Deal. 

For now, Geralt’s witchers and Orlaith had the humans in this part of the world managed. Dracula could still step in if he needed to.

In the meantime, Dracula still had one more target to find.

_Centher_. 

It was no secret the spy was Nilfgaardian, and that meant there was a connection to Emhyr van Emreis, no matter how thin. Dracula’s first instinct would always be to seek out his prey and destroy it, but that was a way of thinking he could only allow himself when it was just him. 

It was surprising, how caring for a few people affected his choices now. Emhyr was Cirilla’s father, at least by birth. Right now Geralt’s daughter wanted to follow in her witcher father's footsteps, wanted to roam the world and carve her way through it on her own terms. 

Dracula remembered, vaguely, how that felt all those centuries ago. To travel from one place to the next, helping the poor and the weak, those that couldn’t face the darkness themselves. 

But he also remembered the frustration of encountering the same problem over and over again. People and magic interacted, because magic was static in this world and people were not. Sooner or later they expanded and encroached on something that then tried to kill them. Peasants going deeper into forbidden woods out of hunger and desperation, waking sleeping monsters inside. 

He wondered if one day Cirilla might feel frustrated, too, and decide that solving issues on an individual level was less efficient than solving them on an institutional level. It was something he had seen Alucard do. He’d changed from a lonely hunter to a ruler that implemented structures to deal with the dark things on a completely different level. Dracula thought that Cirilla would be good at that. She cared, just like Geralt cared, but she also had that spark of ambition that Geralt, or really any witcher, didn’t have. 

Killing Emhyr in revenge would be easy. Nothing in this world could stop Dracula if he wanted to make the effort, or at least he hadn’t yet sensed anything of the kind. But would it solve anything? Would it help the witchers? Would it stop the rumors, the propaganda against them? He had no way of knowing that. And for the first time since he had become what he was, he wasn’t willing to take the risk, wasn’t willing to risk closing a door that he wouldn’t be able to open again.

Plus, Dracula wasn’t certain yet that Emhyr was actually the one responsible. Oh, surely he was responsible on _some_ level. Emhyr was an emperor and what his subjects did, he bore the consequences of. But Dracula as of yet had seen nothing to indicate that Emhyr was the one who wanted Geralt dead.

All Dracula had to go on were rumors. 

Some part of him wanted to just burn out everyone who was even tangentially related to the whole affair. That was the rage inside of him talking, though, and Dracula had long since learned the value of biding his time. 

If he killed Emhyr immediately, then he might never find this ‘Centher’, and a great many other opportunities would be lost as well. 

He would send out his hounds again. He would let loose his other agents as well. Incubi and succubi. Vampires and sub-humans. Not many, but a few very thoroughly enslaved beings. Dracula needed information and they would get it for him.

He might end up speaking with Emhyr as well. Orlaith had mentioned a summit. She could not attend; it was beyond the walls of the castle. 

But Dracula could. He and his minions and his witchers. They could go and finish rooting out any potential threat that this world had to offer. As distasteful as the idea of actually _speaking_ to humans was, Dracula could see the value in it.

Dracula leaned back in his throne and rubbed his thumb over his chin as he thought it over. 

He could feel the warm glow of Geralt and Alucard in the distance, off in Kaer Morhen. Eskel’s light was there, too, though Dracula’s ability to sense his new conquest was dimmer. The witcher keep was settling into his castle. Roots of Dracula’s power were seeping into the core of that keep, making it a part of the whole. Safe inside Dracula’s walls.

On a whim, he stretched out his senses to feel down into the deep darkness of his most foul dungeons. He could almost hear the faint cries of pain from Geralt’s attempted murderers. The sound brought a warm glow of satisfaction to him.

Marie would probably be disappointed with him.

Surprisingly, Geralt and Alucard were not. Nor was Eskel. Or any of the other witchers. 

A strange realization. 

He could feel the sun tremble at the horizon, ready to sink down and bring blessed nighttime to the land. Alucard was close to Geralt; his sense of where they were twined together. 

With that, his heart softened a little bit. Geralt was alive and whole, Alucard was with him, and both of them were _happy_. 

Dracula reveled in the feel of it. He basked in the warm glow of their love and joy as it filtered up to him through his bonds with them. Somehow, that felt even better than the satisfaction of knowing that those who dared to hurt what was _his_ were being punished for it.

Soon, he would seek Geralt and Alucard out. He would take them to his bed and remind them both that they belonged to him, and that they were delighted with his possession. 

Later. 

For now, he allowed himself to sit and enjoy the altogether unexpected pleasure of their love for a while longer.

\----

Geralt rested both his hands on the cracked stones of the fortress and tried to convince himself he wasn’t going to puke. His legs were shaking, muscles twitching as blood was slowly leaving the overexerted muscles and his lungs were feeling as if they were twisted into knots. 

He had run The Killer. He had run it start to finish. He could still do it. 

Only he felt like he was about to cough his lungs out after and that was not what he was used to.

“This is just pitiful.” Vesemir sighed watching him from the side with his hands on his hips. He shook his head. “The timing wasn’t too bad but this,” he indicated the sweaty, coughing and gasping mess that was Geralt. “This is beyond the pale.”

“I’m,” Geralt gasped between wheezes. “Working on it.”

Vesemir pursed his lips. “I was going to follow you around and throw some danger your way on the run, but fuck. I didn’t have to. You’ve worn yourself out.”

“Gimme…” fuck he really _was_ going to hurl, “a damn break…” Geralt panted, and rubbed the sweat off of his forehead for the five hundredth time. 

“I am,” Vesemir said seriously. “I haven’t brought Eskel and Alucard out to beat you with sticks while you run, and aren’t I just the soul of kindness for doing that.” A small smirk tugged at his lips. “I’ll save that for a couple days from now.”

Geralt groaned. The worst part was that he knew Vesemir was serious.

“Come on,” Vesemir waved at him. “Walk it off with me, or you’ll seize up.”

Since that was nothing but the truth, Geralt nodded and slowly but surely followed Vesemir to walk around the courtyard. The walking would cool him down enough that he wouldn’t further injure himself. If he was lucky, maybe he could go pass out for the night. Or better yet, eat until he was ready to burst and then go pass out. 

Chances were he’d get the food, but instead of rest after he’d get another run around The Killer. Every witcher pushed themselves, but Vesemir was both concerned and irritated. Concerned because Geralt was clearly in no condition to go back out on the Path; he was too damn worn away from the recovery. Irritated, because of Dracula’s castle around them and the army still, _still_, stationed outside the castle walls. No doubt Vesemir had been looking forward to running Geralt through an extra grueling set of practices just for that alone. It would be his style. 

_Ah, tough love_, Geralt thought to himself, somewhat sarcastically. 

He saw the necessity of it though. The training would be critical for getting himself back into fighting trim. 

It took one circuit to the well and back to get the wheezing under control, and then a second one to stop from panting outright. No wonder Dracula fucked him into unconsciousness so fast. He had no stamina at all. 

Throughout the walk, Vesemir paced him, quiet and steady as always. That was a bit of a relief in and of itself. Geralt had been fairly concerned that all of this change would set poorly with Vesemir. Especially Henselt’s army. That was just bound to bring up a whole host of unpleasant things for Vesemir. While Geralt loved the old witcher like a father, he also knew that Vesemir still had some residual trauma surrounding the attack that killed their school.

As far as he could tell, though, Vesemir looked good. Much better than he expected actually. 

Part of it had to be the keep. Kaer Morhen looked good. Geralt hadn’t really paid much attention to it in the last year, but coming home after spending a few weeks in Castlevania City made him look over everything again. The walls were in good repair, the rooms dust free and inhabited. The kitchen was no longer a place where they just warmed up water for whatever dry rations they had on hand. It had freshly made bread every day, the huge round loaves cooling on the old wooden table every morning. Geralt knew for a fact that none of the witchers knew how to bake bread. The little cold storage room was suspiciously cold, the temperature not fluctuating a bit even though the weather was getting warmer every day. There were new blankets and pillows around the place, most of the broken glass replaced in the tall window and every time he came down from the towers into the main hall he could swear the pile of rubble at the bottom of it was growing smaller every day as if somebody was sneaking bits of rubble away every day. 

And then there was the moat, the dry moat that was no longer dry but filled with water. It had something huge and spiny swimming through it. Vesemir, oddly enough, called the creature Frank and got into a habit of going out on the drawbridge every evening to toss kitchen leftovers like bones and such to the creature. In turn, the creature started to spend its evenings with its huge fucking jaws open and waiting at the edge of the drawbridge.

The other part of Vesemir’s fair mood had to be Orlaith. 

After months and months of Vesemir resolutely saying he had no interest in fucking demons, now he paid Orlaith a quiet, courtly attention that left the rest of the wolf witchers with their eyebrows in the hairlines. Damn, but half the time Geralt almost wanted to take notes. He’d had no idea that a witcher could be so damn smooth, and somehow still manage to be rough and tumble like the rest of them. 

As far as Geralt could tell, Orlaith’s interest was genuine as well. She was poised and elegant, sure, but more than once Geralt had caught her eyes following Vesemir around. Especially while they were training. That was no heartsick longing in her eyes either. That was hunger. Geralt knew lust when he saw it, even as stately and demure as Orlaith tended to be. She was _very_ interested. Geralt got the impression that she was a bit inexperienced as well, though, or maybe just not quite human enough. Not all of Dracula’s demons tried to pretend to be human or even humanoid. Some were very happy with their demonic nature.

He found the whole thing fascinating to watch, and he was pretty damn sure that Dracula was just as amused. Smug as hell, too, because he finally found something or someone to lure Vesemir with.

“Any news from the outside?” Geralt asked, as soon as he had the breath to do so.

“It’s quiet,” Vesemir said. “Ciri has been coordinating with our spies in the local villages. They’ve set up some trade with Orlaith and the castle, though how exactly that’s going to work out we’re all waiting to see. Henselt took off, ran like a rat with his tail on fire. The nobles he left are squabbling. Quietly, yes, but still squabbling.”

Geralt nodded. That was about what he expected to happen. “And the army?”

“Is staying.” Vesemir sighed. “Blasted troops. I’ve half a mind to go out and make their lives a little miserable, but…” His face twisted into a grumpy grimace. “It’s probably not worth it.”

_Probably._

That might bear some watching, though mostly for the amusement factor. An angry, upset, out of his mind Vesemir was frightening, sure. But an irritated, coldly calculating Vesemir was even more disturbing. The man was devious, and had centuries of fighting and scheming to figure out just exactly how to spin a potential battle to his favor.

Whatever he came up with would likely be hilarious to watch.

“We can’t make ourselves a nuisance,” Geralt said mildly. “The soldiers would only take out their frustrations on the nearby villagers.”

“You’re right, and I’ve been thinking about that.” He narrowed his eyes and looked speculatively up to the city walls off in the distance. “We’ll see how they settle in.”

That was another factor, too. Sometimes a garrison of soldiers was good for a local area. It brought in commerce and added protection. But if the troops weren’t well monitored, they could be just as much a pain for the locals as anything else. 

“Henselt usually keeps a tight rein on his soldiers,” Geralt said, trying to ease the mood. “With Dracula’s city so close, he will probably choose some of his best people to lead the garrison. Doubt he would want to carry the risk of causing an incident because of a drunken oaf.”

“The irony,” Vesemir snorted. “The presence of the Devil making people behave.”

Geralt looked out at the two towers in the distance, stretching so high their tops were hidden in the cloud cover. He was curious what was there and if he would ever be allowed to go exploring the vast city.

“Eskel and Ciri said he was terrible, in that forest. They said that the air was so hot it turned everything to ash, not even bits of armor remained of the knights. Not a bone or a weapon, nothing.” Geralt wasn’t sure why he was talking about it at all. It weighed on his mind, the fact he couldn’t quite imagine the sight. He wanted to know, though, wanted to go to the place and see with his own eyes how it looked now. The very idea was causing emotions to swell up in his chest, a tightness that he couldn’t quite name.

“That is what I’ve heard,” Vesemir said seriously. He gave Geralt a sideways look. “You aren’t responsible for what other people do, you know that right?”

“I’m…” Geralt started and then trailed off, unsure how to articulate what he was feeling.

“What?”

“Is it wrong, that part of me is glad that there’s someone that cares that much?” Geralt swallowed. “Who’s willing to act in my defense?”

There was a short pause as Vesemir thought about it. “No. No, that’s not wrong.” He put a hand on Geralt’s shoulder and squeezed. “We live such lonely lives, Geralt. And they’ve been worse in our later years, with those we call family dwindling more and more. It’s not wrong to be glad that you matter to someone.” He huffed out a small, self deprecating laugh. “Someone other than just us. We would have fought for you, searched and avenged you, but we both know that witchers often arrive long after the fact. I think you have something special here, with Dracula and Alucard. And that’s something to be grateful for, no matter what else comes of it. Love is worth the hardships that goes with it.”

Geralt laughed suddenly, the sound shaky to his own ears. “I still can’t believe they dragged me to another world to save me.”

“Yeah, well, Dracula went as far as to stuff his private little universe into our world. That one doesn’t know the meaning of the word ‘restraint’.” That last line was said in almost a grumble, and Vesemir sounded so disgruntled that Geralt had to laugh again.

“So what I’m hearing is you don’t mind our new living situation?” Geralt asked, grinning a little.

Vesemir looked like he swallowed a lemon for a moment. “It’s an adjustment.” Then his expression smoothed out and he shrugged a little. “But change comes to everyone. Even us. And this? It’s not so bad. People in the keep again. Friends, lovers, allies. There’s life here that I hadn’t realized I missed.”

“No new students though…” Geralt pressed a little, curious to see how Vesemir would respond. He knew how important teaching was to Vesemir, and how much he missed training young witchers.

Vesemir slapped him on the back, nearly knocking him over in the process, and gave him a dry look. “I still have you boys to beat into shape. Some visitors too, maybe. Letho has been a fine student. We should set you two up with a playdate.”

“Playdate,” Geralt said flatly. He thought about the huge witcher, the fresh pink scars that were so fresh and new they told a horrifying story of the brutal interrogation he had suffered. The man had a dry wit, sure, some of his comments hilarious for their dry delivery, but there was also something disturbing him. 

Letho watched Geralt as if he was in on a joke that Geralt was missing. He was also extremely tight lipped about his origins, his school and his past. To be fair, he didn’t ask many questions of them in return so maybe he was simply taciturn by nature.  
The sheer size of him was always a shock, especially the fact he could move so fast for how damn huge he was. Geralt saw him train from one of the tower windows. He was clearly dealing with the same issues Geralt was, the potions healed his body but did not create new muscles or give him stamina out of nowhere. Letho trained brutally, from dawn til dusk, mostly alone with a merciless kind of focus that disturbed Geralt. For him, training was important but it wasn’t the be all and end all of life. He liked to relax, liked taking long baths or simply spending time with his lovers. Letho seemed hell bent on training himself up in the shortest amount of time possible.

One thing he did hear from Iga one morning in the kitchen, was that Letho finally took Ian to bed. Actually, he took to bed whatever sex demon knocked on his door, which instantly made him the absolute favorite witcher in the keep. There was apparently some sort of drama in the early days of his stay in the keep, that included the demons fighting over who got to spend the night with Letho. Somehow the keep now had a new “window” in the eastern tower, side effect of one particularly nasty fight. If they blew out the wall with magic, or if one of them was just bodily tossed through the stone, Geralt wasn’t sure. Either way, he knew damn well that Vesemir probably tossed the offending party right out after them. Geralt didn’t know the details of how it all got settled, but apparently it took Orlaith to institute some kind of lots drawing system for enjoying Letho’s company. 

It certainly was interesting to see more witchers in the keep. Geralt wondered if others would come eventually too. In days past, the keeps were mostly kept secret, though sometimes members of other schools would visit. But to hear Vesemir talk, it sounded like he wouldn’t mind Kaer Morhen being open to any witcher in need of a place to stay and train. The quiet consensus among the other Wolf witchers was that wouldn’t be a bad plan. The company would be good for them all, and with so few witchers left it made sense to foster good will among them. They needn’t wander alone quite so much.

“He looks like he can break a lesser man in half without trying much,” Geralt said, remembering the sheer damn size of the witcher.

“He’s strong, sure.” Vesemir shrugged. “Not half bad with a blade either. It’s important to fight against different body types, though. Keeps your skills sharp. Humans have the luxury of assuming everything they face will be of human strength. We don’t.”

Geralt rolled his eyes a little and nodded along. “Yeah, yeah, I know, old man.” 

They paused at the well. Knowing that this training session was going to be brutal, he’d drawn up a fresh bucket before going out on The Killer. Now he was grateful for his foresight, and was able to immediately down a cup of water. The cool liquid was like bliss on his dry throat and mouth, and he drank a second cup as quickly as the first.

Vesemir just looked at him with faint amusement. “Go get something to eat. Take a breather. We’ll start up again in the morning.”

Since Geralt’s stomach was already starting to growl, he nodded, gave Vesemir a little wave, and headed towards the kitchen. From there he pillaged fresh bread, some cold leftover meat, a skin of wine, and a bag of fruit. 

Rather than sticking around to see if Vesemir would change his mind about more training, Geralt took his hastily-made snack and headed back out of the keep. This time he hiked up the side of the little mountain that Kaer Morhen was nestled on, treading old, well worn rocks up to one of his favorite perches.

It took him a little bit of walking, and one or two spots of nearly climbing, but he made it to the flat rock he was aiming for. The trees were a little thinner there, and the rock itself got sun all day, making it almost warm, even in the late winter chill. 

Spread out beneath him was a view of all the valley. 

In times past he would have been able to see well past the river, down into the foothills, and off into the distance. Now Dracula’s walls rose up, cutting through the mountains and the river, and spreading out back behind them. Great towers touched the sky and massive, darkly beautiful buildings peeked up at the edge of the forested valley. The river looked different than before; from this high up he could see a great waterfall appearing from between two towers, the water falling in a flothing, churning mass from so high up it created its own clouds before disappearing between the trees and joining the river, making the water level higher. 

Here and there, Geralt could see small, shining red spots where tiny pools of bubbling lava were now scattered over the lands. The various buildings, the squat ones and the tall ones, were lit up with flickering lights in their windows, more apparent now that dusk was falling. If he stared hard enough Geralt could see movements on the arching connections between the buildings, dark, odd shapes moving slowly over them. He could see fires being lit up on the courtyards of the smaller buildings, could see steam and smoke escaping the multitude of chimneys in the valley. There was life to the city, one he wasn’t allowed yet to explore.

It was strange. But...lovely in its own way. They still had their little mountain and the vast valley with its meandering bend in the river. Trees still filled the area up, tall dark pines and ancient oaks and maples. He could see off in the distance the wandering of a herd of deer, so far away they were like little dots on the landscape. 

The sun was starting to set off in the distance, and as the valley grew dark, lights from the castle began to glow. They lit up windows of many colors and shined like distant jewels. None of it seemed to affect the stars that were slowly beginning to show themselves. Every vast city that Geralt had ever been in was so bright that the stars themselves dimmed a little because of it. But not here. Kaer Morhen kept its northern view with the five million stars that were slowly coming into view.

As the sun set, Geralt noticed movement off to his side. 

Alucard in his spectral wolf form drifted down next to him, glowing eerie blue in the falling dusk. He was soundless in this form, weightless, landing almost daintily on the rocks. When all four paws were on the ground, he shimmered into his physical form, the great toothy wolf. He shook himself, once, the long fur flying everywhere and then trotted closer, his claws clicking gently against the rocks as he came closer and curled up at his side.

“Hi, lover,” Geralt said softly, smiling. He leaned in and bumped heads with him, letting himself rest on Alucard’s furry bulk.

Alucard nuzzled into him, huffing over his face and neck.

Geralt had long since finished his snack, and had settled in to watch the gathering evening. “Come to sit with me awhile?” he asked. “Enjoy the view.”

Alucard looked at the setting sun and grumbled, the sound hilariously disgruntled. He sighed hard enough he moved Geralt with how hard his sides expanded. 

“Just a little longer,” Geralt put his hand between the furry ears, digging his fingers into the coarse fur. 

Alucard turned to him and licked at his hand, his tongue hot and wet. Then he curled up tighter around Geralt, shifting until he made a tight crescent around him, his head ending up in Geralt’s lap and his warm body pressed tightly to Geralt’s back.

Sitting there at his favorite high perch with Alucard wrapped around him was a sweet thing. To feel his warmth, his presence in this peaceful moment soothed something deep in his chest. He was so used to that ache he didn’t even notice it, up until Alucard soothed it. He put his arms around the big head and cuddled it close to his chest, pressing his face between the furry ears. He felt full to bursting with emotions he couldn’t name, so he just pressed his face into that coarse fur and held on. Despite all odds, Geralt was alive and home again, healthy and with his lovers and he was so grateful for it the words all but stuck in his throat.

As happy as he was for those things, the past few weeks made Geralt realize how very little he knew about both Alucard and Dracula. Their history, their lives. 

He was a witcher, through and through. He was good at what he did and he liked being a protector. He liked going out and killing monsters. 

But that wasn’t all of his life. And he was starting to realize that maybe he wanted more. Geralt thought about what Dracula had said about Ciri, how she might limit herself simply because she loved and admired Geralt and wanted to do what _he_ loved and admired. 

Never in a million years had Geralt ever wanted to limit Ciri. She was amazing. Talented, strong, and smart. 

Geralt had to wonder if he’d been too focused on the Path. 

Maybe, perhaps, it was time to branch out a little.

He remembered meeting a cat witcher once, who had abandoned the Path to live with a wife and two adopted kids. He had become a merchant, of all things. At that time, Geralt couldn’t quite believe the change of heart, much less understand how the man could decide to live a settled and boring, civilian life. Now, he could understand a little more than before. Now he too wanted to experience different things. Maybe not going as far as to abandon the Path, but he wanted to experience Alucard’s life, wanted to be more than a guest spectator. More than that, he wanted Alucard to know that he was willing to be involved.

They sat there, curled up tightly together until the sun sank below the western horizon. 

Alucard’s form glowed the eerie blue Geralt learned to associate with Alucard’s shapeshifting magic. In a matter of moment’s the shape stretched and solidified in the familiar form of his lover, the blue armored coat falling gently around him as he turned his golden eyes to Geralt. 

Chest still too full to talk, Geralt reached for that coat, grabbed a fistful and pulled down, forcing Alucard onto his knees beside him. Once he had him in reach, he put his hands against the sides of his face, feeling the warm, silky hair under his fingers, and kissed Alucard. Slow and deep, he kissed him for long moments, just tasting him, trying to express through the soft press of lips all that he felt and couldn’t name. His nose was full of Alucard’s scent, the tingle of his magic, the soft warmth of his skin and the unique scent that he already had etched deep into his soul.

“Hi,” he said when he pulled from the kiss after what felt like hours. Alucard’s lips looked wet and soft. Geralt watched him lick them, as if getting the last taste of Geralt.

“Hi,” Alucard said, sounding hushed as if he did understand the things that Geralt had tried to express. 

He pushed closer, his own hands going to Geralt’s shirt and fisting there as he pushed for a second kiss. He was happy to welcome the kiss, the touch and closeness. When the kiss came to a slow, natural end, Geralt pressed his forehead against Alucard’s and just stayed there, pressed close and enveloped in his lover’s scent.

“I’m glad you're here,” he murmured, feeling Alucard shift to sit more comfortably beside him. 

“I am glad both of us are,” Alucard said softly in response. 

Geralt knew that both Alucard and Dracula had stirrings of worry in them. All three of them were still shaken from how close a call Geralt’s injuries had been.

He threaded one hand into Alucard’s soft hair, scraping his fingers along the scalp and urging his body closer. 

“I liked seeing your other life, too, you know.” Geralt smiled a little ruefully. “Although the circumstances could have been better.”

Alucard huffed a little, but just cuddled closer, slipping his hands under Geralt’s cloak. 

“It was very strange having you all there. I am not used to having so much...personality with that persona. Most of my focus is simply on the work at hand.”

There was something in Alucard’s voice that Geralt couldn’t quite place. Maybe puzzlement or wonder. 

“Did you like it?” Geralt asked softly.

Alucard’s face did a strange thing.

“What does it say about me that I found Matt’s and John’s reactions hilarious?” Alucard asked after a moment.

Geralt grinned. “It says you have a sense of humor. Eskel and I had a hell of a fun time with them.” He trailed a hand down Alucard’s jaw and left a gentle kiss on his lips. “I wouldn’t mind going back from time to time.”

“What?” Alucard looked at him in mild surprise.

“I…” Geralt licked his lips, trying to find the right words. “You’re a big part of my life, and I want to be a part of yours, too. If you want me to be.”

“I would burn that life for you if I needed to,” Alucard said quietly, his white, messy hair falling into his eyes as he leaned closer. “I knew that when I decided to take you there in the first place. You are more important to me.”

Love, hot and sharp, swelled up in Geralt’s chest. He felt warm and full with it, happy in a thousand different ways. 

“And you are more important to me than the Path,” Geralt said, feeling the truth of the words deep in his soul. “I would give it up in an instant for you and your father.” He tilted his head back and forth, and gave a little smile, feeling suddenly free and light. “But we don’t have to do extremes. We could try to just...mix things a little. I could spend time with you in your world, and come back here to spend some time on the Path, too.” He took a short breath. “You have a good life there, with people who care for you. We could have some fun there. Bring Eskel and Ciri along, too. Make it a family thing.” 

Alucard touched his face, pushing some of Geralt’s hair away from his forehead, reminding him that it’s been a long time since he had it cut. It was becoming unmanageable.

“The people there,” Alucard said softly, his eyes very soft, “They won’t understand you. Life is so different there, they no longer grasp the ideas you live by every day. It’s…a strange kind of dissonance, living amongst people who have so very little in common with you.”

“The people _here_ barely understand me,” Geralt said with a small laugh. “And it doesn’t matter. I’ll have you.” His little smile turned into a full grin. “Besides. I’m sure I can find some fun to get involved with while you’re in meetings.”

Alucard’s face did that strange thing again.

“... I’m suddenly so happy Matt has cameras installed everywhere.”

Geralt laughed. “I don’t know if I should be worried about that or not.” He squeezed Alucard a little bit, and smiled. “I’d like to come learn about your life. See your eyes on me when I try on your fancy city clothes. Watch Matt’s face as Eskel and I school him in how real fighting works. See if I can get John to loosen up a bit. Watch your servants shit a brick when we have a meal together. Maybe drag you out to one of those movie things.” He rubbed his hand over Alucard’s cheek again and his smile softened. “I just want to be a part of your life, and I want you to be a part of mine. If you’ll let me. If you want it.” The silence stretched on for a moment and he shook his head. “If you don’t, that’s alright. You could join me here, if you’d rather that instead. My life isn’t near as glamorous as yours. There’s a hell of a lot of running around in the mud and doing odd jobs, but you could come see what the Path is like. Or we can keep things as they are.”

He was suddenly worried he’d said too much, asked for too much. Alucard and Dracula both had their lives and their duties, and it was selfish of Geralt to try and take their attention from that. 

Alucard chuckled.

“My glamorous life consists of fourteen hour days. I get up, I get dressed, then I have meetings for five hours straight. After that John leaves me alone for two or three hours hoping I will actually eat some of the food he sends. After that it’s meetings until bedtime. Repeat for six days a week. One day of break. Then start from the beginning.” Alucard shifted closer, aligning his body with Geralt’s better. “Your presence has been an amazing distraction from the monotony.”

The slight worry that had built up in Geralt eased away, and he smiled easily again. He shifted a little bit so that he could wrap his arm around Alucard’s shoulder and pull him in tight. “I’m very good at being distracting. And truthfully, your days sound a lot like mine. Except instead of meetings, it’s a lot of riding, walking, and fighting. And talking to idiots, though I expect that’s pretty similar for you, too. I don’t sleep much out on the Path. Easier to meditate for an hour or two and keep going. But I can see why you take advantage of that bed.”

“I love the bed,” Alucard admitted sheepishly. “And the shower.”

Geralt hummed appreciatively. “I liked both of those immensely,” he said, voice low and rough. He couldn’t help but take a deep breath in, enough to savor Alucard’s scent curling around him. “And everything that can be done in them.”

Then Alucard’s chuckles dried up and he rested his head against Geralt’s shoulder. It always amazed him how small Alucard could fold down. “If you do come there and meet other people, they will think you are a paid companion.” 

“Wouldn’t be the first time people thought that,” Geralt said with a shrug. “I bet you we can keep them guessing though. They’ll be half convinced I’m a hooker, half convinced I’m a bodyguard, and completely convinced that I’m a dangerous lunatic. Could be fun. Besides,” he grinned wider and preened a little. “I would make great arm candy.”

Alucard lifted his head from Geralt’s shoulder and looked at him seriously.

“You are very pretty,” he said with absolute conviction.

“I’d make you look very good.” Geralt let his voice go a little rough again. “People would be very impressed with your prowess, taming a creature such as me.” 

The irony of the statement amused Geralt, but he couldn’t help but think that it would be true, too. Trevor Belmont’s fellow business associates wouldn’t know what to make of Geralt. Not even a little. 

“I don’t feel like I did any taming,” Alucard was settling with his head against Geralt’s shoulder again. “Rather the other way around.”

Geralt hummed happily, and nosed into Alucard’s hair. “Maybe we tamed each other.” He looked out over the darkening valley, with the far off lights of the castle around them and the countless twinkling stars above. Alucard’s body was warm in his arms, even against the night’s chill. Even though Dracula wasn’t with them, he could still feel the warmth in his chest where a little bit of Dracula’s soul lay in trade for a part of his own. Perhaps not present, but never truly gone. He shifted his cloak around, wrapping them both up in it and then rested his cheek on Alucard’s head. 

“I love you, Alucard,” he said quietly.

“I’m so happy you got lost that one time and found me,” Alucard’s hand found Geralt’s and he interlaced their fingers together. “I love you, too.”

They stayed there for a long while, wrapped in warmth and happiness. 

The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee oh my gods it's all posted. .... just another 400k words of fic in this series to proof read, make sense of and post, and then we'll be through the backlong. ....
> 
> hahahaha
> 
> Thank you all again for sticking through to the end. We love you folks :D

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Dracula in Castlevania City](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22466632) by [Danisa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Danisa/pseuds/Danisa)
  * [Rage](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23591800) by [Anatai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anatai/pseuds/Anatai)
  * [Belmont Sr.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23665387) by [Anatai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anatai/pseuds/Anatai)
  * [Trevor Belmont | Alucard](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23860780) by [Anatai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anatai/pseuds/Anatai)


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